


Lost Years Ep 03 - The Sins of the Mothers

by Soledad



Series: The Lost Years [5]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (Classic), Star Trek (Classic)
Genre: Awesome Uhura, Book-canon Andorian Culture, Decker Gets To Shine, F/M, Insectoids Are Hard To Figure Out, Kaferians, Rejected Plot Ideas, When Classics Collide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 23:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: 3rd regular episode of "The Lost Years" series, based on a plot sketch of Judy Burns.TheEnterpriseis sent to evacuate a colony threatened by a supernova explosion. However, the insectoid colonists have other ideas. Uhura, in charge of this particular mission, must see how she might succeed... or not.





	1. Foreword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **An appeal to the reader:** I know that introductions are boring. Nobody likes to read them. Not even me. But I ask you to do it nevertheless. Otherwise you might have serious difficulties understanding what’s going on.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
** FOREWORD  
  
As my _Star Trek_ fiction goes, this story is a very old one. I finished it on 21-07-1999, after having worked on it for more than a year. It is based – vaguely – on an unfilmed plot idea by Judy Burns, a synopsis of which was given in a few short sentences in one of the TOS handbooks.

As I worked on it, however, the changes were getting more and more profound. The originally human population of the colony became an insectoid race – I chose the Kaferians, firstly because they are canon, and secondly because they looked so amiably weird in Shane Johnson’s “The Worlds of the Federation” – and the vaguely-hinted-at natural disaster of the original plot idea turned into a more scientifically described one… at last I hope so. *g*

I took the idea – and the details – of a star going supernova within a fifteen-light-year-distance of an inhabited planet from Neil F. Comins’ excellent “What If the Moon Weren’t There?”, which served as a guide in several of my other stories.

When I began to translate my “Lost Years” stories into English, I ran into an interesting problem. At the time when the story was originally written, Andorians were a fairly neglected species. There was little to no canon information available, so I went with what had been established in the TOS-novels and Shane Johnson’s “The Worlds of the Federation”. Which means, I considered Andor as a hot, arid world and accepted the idea from the novels that Andorians married in groups of four because many females were still infertile due to some undefined disaster centuries earlier.

However, in the meantime I’ve come across the post-DS9 stories, among them the “Worlds of ST:DS9” series, in which the excellent Heather Jarman came up with the idea of Andorians having four genders and all the highly interesting complications this biological fact would bring. This idea was so much better, it matched the _Star Trek_ idea of infinite diversity so well that I decided to adopt it into my specific corner of the Trekkiverse. Which, just to put things straight, includes absolutely nothing of which Bermaga came up with in _Enterprise_. I might no longer refuse to consider that series as _Star Trek_ at all, but I still have serious disagreements considering its so-called canon that contradicts many formerly established facts left, right and center.

On the other hand, unlike many Trekkies, I do consider the _Animated Series_ as part of _Trek_ canon and use facts and characters from it with great delight.

In any case, my view of Andor was thoroughly shattered; which means that I had to completely rewrite Ensign Lamia’s personal background – despite the fact that she’s a borrowed book character. I kept the Andor-as-a-desert-planet concept, though, and decided that it would have oasis cities – partially subterranean ones, based on the outcry of a book character: “By the subterranean rivers of Andor!”

I tried to keep at least _some_ of Lamia’s original backstory, but in the end there wasn’t much left. I think the new version is more interesting, though, even if I do mourn a little the old one.

The Kaferian language, half-vocal and half-signature as it is, was borrowed from another TOS novel, "The Dispossessed". I used it to bring Uhura in the foreground, because I wanted her to be the heroine of this particular story.

The intricacies of Orion society, however, are entirely my own invention. They were established – and described in detail – in my other story “Mission to Daleth IV”.

This particular story takes place in the same time slot as “The Billion Year Voyage”, which is why I split the crew and left Uhura’s landing party act on its own on Antar Beta II.

Still with me? I’m flattered. Then let us start with the actual story, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update this story once a week. But seeing as only four chapters have been fully translated into English yet, I might not _always_ be able to keep the schedule. Apologies in advance.


	2. Prologue

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

**PROLOGUE  
**   
This was the third time that Lamia ar’Rhaniach was forced to celebrate the _hii-du-rai_ rites alone; alone and far from the underground rivers of _Fesoan_ , which gave wetness and thus life to the large, hot and arid planet that the Andorians called home, and which the rites were dedicated to it in the first place.

The ceremonial stones – hand-polished by skilled artisans from the _Zhevra_ continent, so round and smooth as if they had been shaped by water – were the petrified remnants of a certain kind of tree, extinct for several million years, and the use of them was supposed to remind the rivers that once upon a time such giant trees had lived on the planet surface... and that they must not forget about their life-giving purpose, or else the rest of _Fesoan_ ’s flora would fall victim to the Cataclysm, too.

Aside from those tones, only a few personal items were left for Lamia to represent her lost home: the small statue of the Water Guardian, made of some smooth, yellow stone; a three-piece _ceara_ , worn traditionally by _zhen_ , and a few holopictures of her remaining friends. As she had been cast out by her _kheth_ , she was no longer allowed to possess family pictures. 

Nor was she allowed to return to her home planet ever again.

In the society of _Fesoan_ , _kheth_ and family defined one’s place. An outcast didn’t have a place to begin with. She didn’t even _exist_. The name by which she was registered in the official records, _ar’Rhaniach_ , wasn’t even a true name. It simply meant _the outcast_.

Some forty thousand standard years before Lamia’s birth, _Fesoan_ ’s otherwise stable sun – known by Federation astronomers as Epsilon Indi – had released an unexpected burst of hard radiation, destroying a dangerously hard percentage of nucleonic particles in the planet’s atmosphere. As a result, the already warm climate of the then-fertile planet took a turn to the worse, and the planet’s surface became a desert, with small fertile patches in-between. Also, some sixty per cent of the population became infertile, and even many of the children who had been born afterwards came to the world that way.

Being a hardy people, the Andorians had adapted. Some of them – a considerable part of the _Bishee_ population – had been relocated to the planet’s icy moon by the mysterious Providers and taken a very different path of development. Known now as the _Aenar_ , they had long been a legend and only rediscovered in the previous century, after the development of space travel.

The long-term consequences of the Cataclysm had been realized at about the same time. All of a sudden, the Andorians had to realise that they were a dying race. And that tragic realisation led to profound changes in Andorian society.

Andorian procreation had been a tricky thing to begin with. They were a _Ghelnoid_ species, meaning a unique blend of mammalian and insectoid biology, having an inner skeleton and being endothermal and viviparous like mammals but having a chitin-like cartilage bone fusion, antennae and an osmotic circulatory system like insects. To this time, they were the only known sentient race in that unique category.

But there was another way in which they were unique. They had four genders, two of which were superficially “male” and two superficially “female” To create a child, the cooperation of all four genders was required; three of them to produce and embryo and the fourth to carry it to term and nourish it after birth. This fact necessitated the foursome marriage bonds – or _quads_ as they were also called – not because, as many outsiders mistakenly believed, they’d _choose_ to live in group marriages.

Very little was left to personal choices in an Anorian’s life.

In order to make interactions with the various two-gender species that dominated the known universe, they accepted to be addressed by male or female pronouns, choosing the one closest to their personal nature. Still, sometimes it was different for an outsider to determine an Andorian’s gender by sight alone, as _chan_ could appear somewhat feminine while some _shen_ had an unexpectedly masculine appearance.

Lamia herself was a _zhen_ – the one supposed to carry the offspring of her bonding group to term and to give birth. Like most other individuals of her species, she’d been bonded in childhood already. When the long-term effects of the Cataclysm on the Andorian reproductive system had first been realized – namely the slow narrowing of the fertility window and the equally slow decrease of multiple births – the survival of the species became the main imperative of Andorian society. Clan and family had always played a very important role; now they had become the main purpose of their lives.

As the fertility window had narrowed down to a time span of five local years, during this time all fertile individuals were supposed to stay home and produce as many children as possible. Andorian gestation period being as short as it was, that could mean as many as fifteen babies in those five years, the rare twin births not counted. That intense period of procreation drained a great deal of strength from the young families – especially from the _zhen_ , who was, after all the one most burdened by the process – and yet very few Andorians would ever get the idea of turning their backs on this time-honoured practice… or on their bondmates.

Contrary to rumours, Lamia was _not_ one of these rare individuals – or, at least, had not been one from the beginning. She had dutifully asked for leave after the _Enterprise_ ’s first five-year-mission and returned to _Fesoan_ for the _shelthreth_. Only after the failure of their _quad_ to produce a child, after it had been decided to release Thala from their bond and look out for a new _shen_ to make them _Whole_ again, did she refuse to stay with them and accepted instead the offer to take part in a special training of Starfleet, at the Security Academy in Annapolis, on Earth.

The reaction of the family had been – explosive, to say the least; just as she’d thought it would be. Still, she couldn’t have acted differently. Thala had been her first love, the closest one to her of all their bondmates. She had not deserved to be thrown away for something that hadn’t been her personal fault.

Lamia would have taken Thala with her, to Earth. Would have stood by her, spent her entire life in a twosome bond with her and traditions be damned. But Thala could not bear the responsibility for such a dread choice; instead she had ended her life voluntarily, setting Lamia free.

Lamia, however, did not want such freedom. She wanted her _sh’za_ back, and when she couldn’t have her, she didn’t want anyone else. Her _zhavey_ – as well as her other parents and the parents of her remaining bondmates – had been outraged, calling her selfish and foolish, and in the end they cast her out for breaking the _Whole_ of her _quad_ … as if it hadn’t been broken by divorcing Thala and her death already!

Her bondmates had divorced her and were now looking for a replacement, to use the almost four years remaining to them as well as possible. Upon enrolling the course at the Security Academy, she’d already been alone – a concept so alien and incomprehensible for Andorians as their ways would be for other species. 

Sometimes she was still wondering how she’d managed to survive the previous lonely year.

For lonely she had been, enduring a loneliness no other race could ever begin to understand. In the culture of her people, clan and family stood above everything, even the written law; and she no longer had those. She no longer had a home, or anything that could still bond her to Fesoan… or to any other place in the universe. She was outcast, homeless, alone… alone… alone… 

And, more importantly, she no longer had Thala, who had been the better half of her soul.

All she had was a small, impersonal cabin aboard the _Enterprise_ , next to the quarters of Keiko Tamura, another young ensign of the security division.

The break with her surviving bondmates and the rest of her family now lay almost a year back. During that year no one had ever contacted her from home. None of her thirty-eight _becri_ (this Andorii term meant siblings and cousins of all four genders) had dared – or wanted – to raise the wrath of the clan Elders by contacting the outcast. For her former bondmates, she had never existed. 

Sometimes she wondered whether she was truly dead; whether it was a mistake from her colleagues’ side that they hadn’t realised working alongside a dead person.

Keiko Tamura turned out to be a great support in those difficult times – _and_ afterwards. Being of Japanese origins, she had grown up in a highly ritualized environment, in a family that valued tradition above many things, so she could understand Lamia’s dilemma better than any other human could have hoped to do. She’d been the one to talk Lamia into the special tactical training in Annapolis – after she’d travelled Terra for a while, since she had not had the chance during her Academy years to learn more about the plant with its fascinating diversity of climates and even more fascinating diversity of cultures.

Lamia never regretted having listened to her room-mate’s suggestion. She had met a lot of interesting people in Annapolis, and the training itself had proved quite exciting. She had learned several new fighting styles and the use of new technologies, which meant that a promotion to lieutenant junior grade was now within her reach – unless she got a negative remark in her file in the near future. Besides, Keiko had participated in the advanced tactical training, too, and the presence of a friend had been great relief for her. It eased the burden of her loneliness a little.

Her status as an outcast had _one_ positive result, though: she was now granted an amount of personal freedom she couldn’t have even dreamed of before. She could travel among the stars, without being burdened by family obligations; to learn all that was there to learn. To see things no Andorian had seen before.

She was also free to choose her own family if she wanted, although there was little hope for that. Most Andorians of her age had already been bound. Her only chance would be a bondgroup choosing her to replace their lost _zhen_. But there were very few bondgroups in Starfleet, and even if there would be a vacancy, she’d hardly be considered a suitable replacement.

She had been marked as irresponsible, and that was the worst possible mark for an Andorian. Failure – or refusal – to reproduce impacted the _Whole_ , not only the individual. Each lost opportunity was another step towards the extinction of their race. No bondgroup would trust a _zhen_ who had already turned her back on her duty towards clan, family and people.

She had to accept the fact that – unless a miracle happened – she would spend her entire life alone, without family, without offspring… and shunned by her fellow Andorians for her choice.

Sometimes she wondered if the stars were truly worth such a high price. But when she stared out into the depth of space, she knew she would make the same choice again. She only wished Thala could be with her to see the wonders of the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Andorian terms (mostly according to the DS9 relaunch series):**
> 
> _hii-du-rai_ rites: ritual mentioned in one of the TOS novels, without details  
>  _Fesoan_ : indigenous name of Andor, according to "The Words of the Federation" by Shane Johnson  
>  _ceara_ : clothing worn traditionally by _zhen_  
>  _zhen_ : one of the 4 Andorian genders, considered "female" by outsiders  
>  _kheth_ : Clan or family in the extended sense  
>  _shen_ : one of the 4 Andorian genders, considered "female" by outsiders  
>  _chan_ : one of the 4 Andorian genders, considered "male" by outsiders  
>  _shelthreth_ : sexual encounter of all 4 bondmates with the express intention to beget children  
>  _sh’za_ : bondmate of the _shen_ gender  
>  _zhavey_ : parent of the _zhen_ gender; the Andorian equivalent of a birth mother  
>  _becri_ : siblings and cousins of all four genders; this term originates from one of the early TOS novels, just like Lamia herself


	3. Astrophysics for Beginners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: The idea of Andorians having four genders originates from the post-series DS9 novels and thus can be considered semi-canon. Lamia herself is a book character from earlier TOS novels.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER 01 – ASTROPHYSICS FOR BEGINNERS  
**  
This was the first time that Ensign Lamia ar’Rhaniach had been invited to the staff meeting of the _Enterprise_. As a rule, Captain Kirk, one of Starfleet’s remaining living legends, did _not_ invite junior officers to the meetings with his section leaders. This time, however, he was making an exception. And the reason for that was their upcoming new mission.

The newest assignment of the _Enterprise_ was to move a colony of the Dairu – an insectoid race like the Andorians themselves – to a new location. Evolution had produced several fully or partially insectoid races, only three of which were currently connected with the United Federation of Planets: the Andorians, the Aenar (an Andorian sub-race) and the Dairu, who – unlike the former two – were one hundred per cent insectoid. Kaferia, the Dairu homeworld, had kept up a highly profitable trade relationship with he Federation for more than two hundred years, without actually joining it. The colony in question, however, was under Federation protectorate, at least in the latest phase of their rather… eventful history.

In her anxiety, Lamia happened to arrive a little too early, but that was fine with her. At least she got the chance to choose a seat that was in safe distance from Captain Kirk’s place. She sat down shyly, mentally thanking the practical-minded admiral (with enough time at his hands to care for such things) who had come up with the idea of changing the Starfleet uniforms. The old, bright red skirts had clashed painfully with her blue skin and wide green eyes. Besides, it made her look hilarious, having relatively short limbs compared with her long torso, like all members of her species. 

At least the new, black-and-gold coverall allowed her to move freely; and the neutral colour was a blessing. The practical field jacket, with its many pockets, was an additional bonus.

Barely had she sat down, she had to stand up again, as the leading staff started to arrive, beginning with Lieutenant Chekov, her immediate superior. The ever-concerned young chief of security looked at his parade best: his uniform immaculate as always, his boots high-polished, and every single lock of his dark hair smoothed carefully to the side. Keiko Tamura swore he must be _fixing_ it with some industrial strength haircare product, not wanting to have as much as a single hair hanging into his eyes as it had been the case in his time as a green navigations officer, always unkempt, always looking at one through his bangs.

Chief Chekov was followed by Mr. Sulu, of course. The two were practically inseparable, for which Lamia actually envied her superior officer. The general opinion aboard the _Enterprise_ was that Mr. Sulu was the kindest, most likeable human being on the whole ship. All security officers were seeking his company, if for nothing else then to learn something from his rich knowledge about self-defence techniques. And Mr. Sulu shared his knowledge willingly, whenever his schedule allowed it.

Commander Uhura was every bit as nice as Mr. Sulu, but not so easily approachable. Despite her easy-going manners, she had a certain innate dignity that reminded Lamia of her _shreya_ – her second mother and the head of her family – which made her very hesitant in her dealings with the communications officer. Colonel Tigh, Uhura’s bondmate, usually joined the staff meetings; it was his right as the representative of an allied power. Lamia found his aura stern and forbidding. But again, he’d been a warrior all his life.

Deltan navigator Lieutenant Ilia and Vulcan science officer Lieutenant Xon were new to the command staff, and so was Lieutenant Willard Decker, their executive officer. So far Lamia had only had dealings with the latter and found the young man somewhat uncertain, yet at the same time a little arrogant. She was not happy at all about the fact – as she had been recently informed by Chekov – that she’d have to join a planetary mission under Decker’s command. But the new regulations demanded that landing parties had to be led by the First Officer, so there was no way around that.

Fortunately, Lieutenant Xon was supposed to go with them, too. Lamia, who found even humans too cold and reserved, was not a fan of Vulcans in general, of course. This time, however, she would be relieved to have Decker’s nervousness balanced out by Xon’s unshakable Vulcan calm. For an Andorian who shared her race’s volatile emotions, there was nothing worse than a nervous superior officer.

Xon came accompanied by his fellow Vulcan, sociologist T’Pel. Lamia knew she was on board but had never seen her before. She had to admit that – despite her Vulcan coldness – T’Pel was an exquisite beauty, even from an Andorian’s point of view. Her angular cheekbones and wide, slanted dark eyes gave her coffee-coloured face an exotic touch, emphasized by a wide mouth and elegantly curved, pointed hears. Her jet-black hair was braided with strings of white pearls and wreathed around her head like a coronet, leaving only a long, wavy lock hanging over her shoulder on each side.

The manner in which Lamia’s male colleagues discussed the… _assets_ of the Vulcan scientist revealed that T’Pel’s entire appearance matched the general idea of beauty among most humanoids. As the visible differences between Andorian genders did not match those of two-gendered species, Lamia felt herself unfit to judge whether they were right or not. However, Ensign Sdan, who – as a Rigelian – belonged to a Vulcanoid race himself, had said once…

Lamia hurriedly suppressed her not entirely appropriate thoughts, because, accompanied by Mr. Scott, Doctor McCoy and several other section leaders, Captain Kirk now entered the conference room in person. His presence, as always, increased her habitual nervousness to sheer unbearable levels.

“Sit down and let’s get this thing started,” Kirk ordered, and everyone took a seat. The captain waited until Yeoman Mears would start the official recording, then he cut right to the core. “I assume you’ve all had time enough to become familiar with our upcoming mission; at least with the basics of it. To be sure, however, I’d like to ask Commander Uhura to summarize the record of our original mission briefing.”

“Certainly, Captain,” Uhura glanced into her electronic notebook, nicknamed PADD in Starfleet slang. “We’ve been ordered to Antar Beta Two to prepare an endangered colony of Dairu living there for relocation to Aiolos Four. Antar Alpha, a twenty-solar-mass star, located fifty light years from the Antar Beta system, has gone supernova forty-six standard years ago, relative time. As the Dairu had not possessed the necessary astrophysical knowledge at the time of their migration, they had, unfortunately, chosen a planet that would, as a result of Antar Alpha’s explosion, become completely uninhabitable within four standard years.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Kirk nodded. “We might have been delayed a little by the recent events, but in our time of Warp speed that doesn’t play any deciding role. Starfleet Command has sent us our new orders and a new timetable. Consequently, we’re leaving Starbase 13 within two days; at 14:00 hours board time, to be accurate. That makes it possible for everyone to become more familiar with the problem,” he glanced at the Vulcan. “Lieutenant, can you tell us something about Antar Alpha?”

“Of course, Captain,” Xon didn’t need any memory aids, he quoted the necessary data directly from his phenomenal memory; phenomenal even by Vulcan measures, Lamia knew; she had read his file. “Antar Alpha, a twenty-solar-mass star, as Commander Uhura had already mentioned, does have a marked similarity to Antares, a nineteen-solar-mass star, which, as you know, is located a more comfortable three hundred and twenty-five light years from Earth.”

“Hence the name,” Sulu commented. 

Xon ignored him with practiced ease.

“Antar Alpha is a relatively young star that has developed into a supergiant in a mere eight million years," he continued, "converting its entire core from hydrogen to helium. Deprived of new photons to keep it stable, the core then began to collapse. During this process, the iron nuclei were literally dissolved by the intense pressure into increasingly lower-mass elements…”

“Such as?” Sulu asked, mostly to annoy the Vulcan; as a former scientist, he knew well enough how a supernova explosion was supposed to happen.

“Such as oxygen, carbon and helium,” Xon replied, not seeming annoyed at all. “The collapse of the iron core was so fast that the breaking up of nuclei occurred too rapidly for fusion to take place. The collapsing core experienced such great pressure from the layers of mass over it that the core’s electrons became fused with the protons in the helium and hydrogen, leading to very fast and extensive neutrino emissions. The rapid collapse of the core caused enormous shockwaves between it and the onionskin layers, causing those to burst outward, thus generating the supernova.”

He pushed a button on his terminal, changing the simulation shown on the great screen of the conference room.

“Right now, as the onionskin layers had already been blown off, Antar Alpha’s core consists of about four solar masses of neutrons,” he explained. “The core has just begun to cool down and retract. Its mass is so great now that there is no known force in nature powerful enough to stop it from collapsing in on itself under the force of its own weight. It will rapidly contract, getting denser and denser, until it becomes so compact – about a few miles across – that its gravity would be too strong to allow anything to escape from it.”

“In other words: a black hole is about to be born,” Kirk summarized. Xon nodded.

“Correct, sir. However, _that_ is not our problem. What we shall have to deal with are the effects of the stellar explosion on Antar Beta and its planets.”

“When will be these effects start showing on Antar Beta Two?” Kirk asked.

“X-rays and Gamma rays, accompanying the visible light of the supernova explosion, would reach the planet within four standard years,” Xon replied. “The first part of ultraviolet radiation from the supernova will destroy the ozone layer of the atmosphere within a few days and transform the ozone into atomic oxygen. After this protective banner has been eliminated, UV radiation will saturate the planet’s surface – not from the supernova alone, but also from its own sun, which no longer would be hindered in reaching the planet.”

“How long would it take for the ozone layer to be repaired?” McCoy asked.

“Several decades,” Xon said. “The brightness and emissions of all the electromagnetic radiation from the supernova _will_ fade after a local month, but it will remain visible for millennia, as an expanding cloud of gas and dust on the night sky. This, however, will primarily emit visible light, with only a limited emission of the more dangerous ultraviolet, Gamma and X-rays.”

“What about cosmic radiation?” Sulu interjected, showing that he had not entirely forgotten his stuff during the years in the pilot’s seat.

“That will reach the planet five to ten years later,” Xon told him. “Due to the relative closeness of the supernova, we have to count on a high-level secondary radiation.”

“Not to mention the remnant radiation of the supernova itself,” added Ilia grimly.

Xon nodded in agreement. “Indeed. The supernova remnant – that is, the shell of gas and dust emitted by the blast – will begin radiating energy from a variety of sources.“

“Like the radioactive decay of some elements created in the explosion,” Sulu suggested.

“Or interactions between the remnant and the ambient interstellar gas it encounters,” Ilia supplied.

“Or between the remnant and the magnetic fields that exist throughout the galaxy,” Xon finished. “These secondary effects from the remnant will be irregular, but ongoing for thousands of years.”

“If nothing else, they’ll cause the remnant to continue glowing on the planet’s night sky,” Sulu said.

“True,” Xon agreed, refraining from the comment that he had already told them _that_. “In any case, remnant radiation will need at least a thousand years to reach the planet, and it will fade enough during the process so that it will cause practically no further damage in the atmosphere. Concerning the chemistry of the soul and the seawater, it will cause profound changes, though.”

“Assuming there’ll be anything left for it to destroy,” McCoy commented bitterly. Xon nodded.

“Correct, Doctor. As a consequence of the primary and secondary radiation from the supernova, individuals of virtually all species of plants and animals would begin dying of radiation poisoning. It is also possible, although less likely, that entire species will be immediately annihilated. We will also have to count on genetic mutations by eventually surviving plants and animals, due to the supernova’s radiation.”

“These alterations would begin with the very next generation conceived after the radiation reaches the planet,” Dr. Ann Mulhall, the lead astrobiologist of the _Enterprise_ , added. “As with mutations that occur in the normal course of evolution, most of the genetic changes will lead to immediate death for the altered plant or animal; and that by the millions! However, a few of those changes will prove beneficial, just like with normal mutations, enabling the owners of such new genes to thrive.”

“Is there a possibility that all life on Antar Beta Two will be extinguished?” Uhura asked.

Dr. Mulhall shrugged. “I can’t give a definite answer to that, Commander, but I don’t think so. Although there _will_ be countless deaths due to genetic failure, there will also be a relatively large number of successful mutations – relative, that is, to the normal state of evolution.”

“Fact is, the biosphere of Antar Beta Two is not so complex like, say, that of Terra, by far,” Xon added. “Consequently, it _is_ possible that the planet surface would become a radioactive desert. It is more likely, though – and I am speaking about a sixty-two point one one three per cent possibility - that lower life-forms, which have undergone mutations, will therefore be capable of adapting to the environmental changes and survive in the long run. For intelligent life, though, circumstances will no longer be acceptable. Not even for an insectoid species like the Dairu that possesses a considerably higher tolerance against radioactive poisoning than mammals.”

“Speaking of which,” Kirk looked at Dr. Mulhall, “what can you tell us about the Dairu as a species, Doctor?”

The astrobiologist rose from her seat and went over to the large video screen embedded into the wall of the conference room.

“As you probably know, the Dairu are one of the few insectoid species known to Federation science,” she began; her characteristic Southern accent more prominent than even Dr. McCoy’s. “Their homeworld is Kaferia, the third of five planets orbiting Tau Ceti, a yellow star of moderate size. They call their world _Kohath-Seredi_ , though.”

She paused briefly and called up the three-dimensional pictures of two fairly peculiar creatures on the viewscreen. On the left, there was a dark red being with four arms, an unproportionally long torso, huge, facetted insectoid eyes and a black frill over said eyes and on the top of its head.

The picture on the right showed a bipedal creature in chitin armour, somewhere between a Terran ant and a Denebian predator fly. It also had six limbs and large, facetted eyes, but its individual features weren’t easy to discern, because of the chitinous helmet – presumably a natural one – concealing its face. Only the eyes and the two frilled antennae were visible. According to the scale on both sides of the viewscreen, neither creature was taller than five feet.

“As it’s generally known, the Dairu were the first non-humanoid civilization discovered by the Federation,“ Ann Mulhall continued. “The USS _Valiant_ stumbled over them by accident… well, more or less.”

“It is not easy to enter the Tau Ceti system,” Lt Vincent DeSalle from Stellar Cartography added. “The star is surrounded by the biggest interplanetary cloud of debris known to us. The rock- and ice chunks fill the transorbital space so densely that incoming ships have to approach the planet in a narrow angle, above the polar caps.”

“And that very fact led to a relatively long period of isolation, which determines Kaferian foreign policy to the current day,” T’Pel supplied. “Even though, as it has already been mentioned during the previous mission briefing, they _have_ established a very profitable foreign trade arrangement with the Federation and are exceptionally friendly to all off-world visitors. They have never considered joining the Federation, however, preferring to remain reliable trade partners instead. They have not even formed an alliance with other inhabited worlds in their sector.”

“I cannot blame them for protecting their independence,” Colonel Tigh commented dryly. “I’d have a question, though, _Siress_ T’Pel.”

“Please, ask,” the Vulcan said.

“I know I may sound xenophobic,” Tigh began, “but after my experiences with insectoid species I must ask _how_ trustworthy the Dairu really are.”

“It is my opinion that you have no reason to be worried, Colonel,” the sociologist answered calmly. “As I said, they are very friendly and most accommodating to the needs of their visitors.”

“That were the Ovions, too,” Tigh returned grimly, “until they started to liquefy our people in those pods to feed their little maggots with them. Cassiopeia can tell you about it; she was already wrapped up in one of those things. Starbuck and Apollo found and rescued her in the last possible moment.”

“About _that_ you really don’t have to worry,” Dr. Mulhall interjected. “The Dairu are herbivores. The only kind of animal-originated food – needed for their freshly hatched larvae – they gather from a Kaferian species called the _Loo’mnei_. They breed those large insects the way Terran ants keep _Aphidiae_ – like cattle. The _Loo’mnei_ produce some kind of sweet secretion, which the Dairu ‘milk’ regularly to feed their newborn with it.”

“Does it mean that their society, too, resembles the structure of an anthill?” Kirk asked.

T’Pel shook her head. “No, Captain. I would rather compare it with a swarm of Terran _Apis mellifera_ – honey bees, for those unfamiliar with the scientific term. With the significant difference that their queens, or swarm-mothers, as they are called, are not mere birthing machines but the highly valued and respected elders of their respective territory.”

“You mean there isn’t just _one_ queen in each swarm?” Kirk asked in surprise.

“That is correct,” T’Pel replied. “Furthermore, Dairu have six genders: fertile and infertile males and females, plus the neuters that develop no sexual organs at all.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Mulhall agreed. “Which means that Dairu have three male and three female genders, yet only a very limited number of individuals from each group are fertile and thus capable of reproduction.”

“Traditionally, fertile and infertile males and females are seen as representatives of different genders, although for that there is only limited genetic proof,” Dr. Galyn Görg, one of the _Enterprise_ ’s geneticists, added. The young doctor from Alpha Centauri VII was specialized in insectoid genetics and assigned to the _Enterprise_ for this particular mission only. “The genetic heritage of neuters makes them incapable of developing sexual organs, although they, too, carry the chromosomal signatures of male or female genders.”

“However, it must be mentioned that neuters with male genetic signatures are extremely rare and usually don’t survive the process of developing into a pupa,” Uhura supplied.

“Is there a parallel between castes and genders?” Decker asked.

“None,” T’Pel said. “Each gender shows specific characteristics like size, colour and scent, as well as abilities that determine one’s caste. They are born into their castes, one could say, with a complete set of the necessary mental or physical skills that enable them to fill their place in society.”

“It’s a truly interesting species,” Dr. Mulhall nodded. “As soon as the larvae have hatched, they are entrusted to the caretaker caste that feeds them and takes care of them. When they’ve become large and strong enough, they’re sent to the hives of their respective castes, where they begin their education. Dairu spend one-third of their lives in larval stage: ad naked, red, fairly unprotected beings, as you can see on the left side of the screen. Then they develop into a pupa and stay in their cocoons for half of the rest of their lives. In this stage their personality fully develops, and it will decide whether they’d be suitable leaders, teachers or workers.”

“How can they decide _that_?” Mr. Scott was a little baffled.

“While in the cocoon, they keep up a strong telepathic link to the caretakers,” Dr. Mulhall explained. “Those are some sort of religious leaders who watch over the traditions being followed – by any means necessary. When the fully developed Dairu leaves his or her cocoon, they slip effortlessly into the place best suited their abilities within the caste.”

“Most of them are workers, of course,” T’Pel added. “Only one-tenth is capable of educating the young larvae; and only one out of one thousand has the necessary ability to lead their respective swarm.”

“Can the caretakers influence whether a leader, a teacher or a worker is about to emerge from any given cocoon?” Kirk asked.

Dr. Mulhall made an uncertain gesture. “The xenobiologists are still of two minds about that. _Some_ characteristics, like size or weight of a fully developed individual, depend on how the larva was fed. More likely is, though, that the characteristics of the respective castes – and even one’s role within the caste – are genetically encoded. When certain characteristics aren’t part of the genetic code, there is no known way to produce an individual of, say, bigger size, or better leadership skills, by feeding them a certain kind of food.”

“Of course, no one has ever had the audacity to ask the Dairu a direct question about that, so this is but a scientific theorem,” T’Pel added with honest Vulcan innocence, and she raised a surprised eyebrow when the humans laughed.

“Everything to serve the community,” Kirk, for whom such attitude was utterly alien, commented sarcastically. “Till the day they die.”

“Oh no, Captain,” Dr. Mulhall gave him a vaguely surprised look, as if he’d said something incredible naïve. “The obligations of a Dairu towards their swarm do by no means end with the death of the individual. The hanging bridges and sliding ramps connecting the sometimes eight or nine hundred feet high Kaferian structures are built from the welded-together exoskeleton of the dead Dairu; or of the broken cocoons. This way the individual becomes an integral part of the future of the whole species.”

Lamia found the idea appealing. It served the _Whole_ , and as an Andorian, even a renegade one, she whole-heartedly supported _that_. She could see, though, that more than one of the humans was close to getting sick.

“I thought the cocoons were the source of the famous Kaferian silk,” Xon said. 

He, like Lamia herself, found nothing wrong with the Kaferian way of recycling dead members of the swarm. Perhaps he even found the process logical.

Dr. Mulhall shook her head. “That is not entirely correct. Only the absolutely fresh cocoons can be used to silk production, which is why it’s so rare and expensive. If a larva dies after a very short time in the cocoon, when it is still soft and supple, it can be unspooled and spun into silk. In the later phases it hardens to a substance almost like porcelain. About fifteen per cent of the larvae die right after they have developed into a pupa, as their system is often not up to dealing with the drastic changes.”

“It is strange that such excellent genetic technicians as the Dairu haven’t done anything about that,” McCoy shook his head. “With their superior knowledge in genetics they could have corrected this particular defect centuries ago.”

“They _could_ have,” Dr. Mulhall agreed, “but doing so would violate a fundamental religious taboo. Despite their excellent results with plant an animal genetics, they strongly believe in natural selection when it comes to their own species. To save these larvae would mean, according to their opinion, to reintroduce the damaged gene to the entire population; which would lead to a general lessening of the natural immune system and, in the end, to decadence.”

“So they allow the weak larvae to die, in order to protect the general health of the population,” Xon summarized. “A commendably logical decision.”

“ _You_ would say so, wouldn’t you?” McCoy muttered angrily.

The Vulcan nodded in the usual serene manner of his kind.

“Yes, Doctor, I am quite convinced about that. Logic dictates that the good of the many is more important than the good of the few – or that of a single person.”

“I hope for you that you’ll never have to experience the effects of that lofty idea on your own flesh and blood,” McCoy grumbled.

Xon furrowed his brow in honest confusion. “In what way would that influence the rightness of my opinion, Doctor?”

To the general amusement of all other humans present, McCoy just shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. Kirk waited for the giggles to ebb down, and then he turned to Uhura.

“As opposed to other planetary missions, in this one you’re going to have a crucial role, Commander,” he said. “Starfleet Command, and especially Admiral Cartwright, expressly insisted that you join one of the landing parties as their interpreter.”

Uhura nodded thoughtfully. “Is this about the sign language of the Dairu?”

“Exactly,” Kirk said. “In nine out of ten cases, duty aboard the _Enterprise_ only requires a fraction of your true abilities. This mission, though, will be a true challenge for you, at last. The mix of spoken and sign language has proved hard to master in the past, even for our best, most experienced diplomats; and Lieutenant Decker does not have much experience in that area. You, on the other hand, studied xenopsychology and worked with Ambassador Obatu on _Two Dawns_.”

“Obote, sir,” Uhura corrected gently.

Kirk frowned. “What?”

“Ambassador _Obote_ ,” Uhura explained. “Doctor _Obatu_ is a mythology researcher who happened to live on _Two Dawns_ at the same time… well, actually, he still does live there, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Whatever,” Kirk made a dismissive gesture, not truly caring who the Terran ambassador had been on such an insignificant little world as _Two Dawns_ a decade or two ago. “In any case, now you can show your stuff properly. Starfleet counts on you – and so do I.”

“I’ll do my best, sir, as always,” Uhura showed no sign of being particularly influenced by Kirk’s encouraging speech. “How many landing parties will be assigned to this mission?”

“At least two,” Kirk consulted his PADD. “One, under Lieutenant Decker’s command, has the task of working out a practical evacuation plan for the colony and of making the necessary preparations. He’ll take Ensign Lamia and Yeoman Lemli from security, Lieutenant Brent from Communications, and Technician Thule from Engineering with him.”

As usual, he used the familiar names of said crewmembers, as humans generally had a hard time getting Andorian clan names right, especially when it came to the proper gender-specific prefixes.

“All Andorians; very sensible,” McCoy nodded. “The best people to deal with insectoids are insectoids. “What about the other landing party?”

“That will serve diplomatic purposes,” Kirk explained. “Aside from Commander Uhura, they’ll need somebody from Linguistics…”

“Lieutenant T’Rada is section leader and the best expert,” Xon suggested. “They will need a doctor, though. One specialised in xenobiology.”

“That will be M’Benga, then,” McCoy, who’d have preferred to go himself, seemed not very happy about that. “Chapel still hasn’t got her degree, and Doctor Görg comes fresh from medical school.”

“But she’s a woman,” Dr. Mulhall said with emphasis.

McCoy shrugged. “So she is. And?“

“You may not have realised, Leonard, but Dairu society is exclusively female,“ Dr. Mulhall reminded him. McCoy shrugged again.

“So what? All insectoids live in matriarchate – well, more or less.”

But the astrobiologist shook her head. “I mean _really_ female, Leonard. Male Dairu, and their numbers are very small, serve exclusively the procreation. They can’t even develop into a pupa without help, and usually die within the decade, after they’ve properly done their duty. The Dairu will never allow a male doctor anywhere near their breeding caves.”

“Well, that decides it,” said Kirk. “Take Doctor Görg with you, Uhura; and Ensign Davidson from security. Doctor T’Pel, I assume you would also want to go; and so would Doctor Mulhall, too.”

The two women, so different and yet equally devoted to their work, nodded in unison, and Dr. Görg added. “I would suggest sending Davdison with Mr. Decker, Captain. He has enough Andorians with him to deal with the locals; but we might need a semi-insectoid point of view, too. And since we are the ones who may get to the breeding caves, we would need a female with us.”

Kirk saw no reason to protest, and Lamia did her best to bring the trembling of her antennae under control. She nearly swooned from relief. Having to work with a bunch of Andorians who refused to acknowledge her very existence would have been… difficult at best.

“We are going to need a botanist, a chemist, medical personnel and even more security officers,” Uhura said. “We cannot tell in advance what the Dairu are going to think about the intervention of the Federation. They haven’t exactly _asked_ for it, after all.”

“Sounds sensible,” Kirk looked at Decker. “See into it, Number One.”

“Aye, Captain,” Decker made an entry in his PADD.

“I’m also going,” Colonel Tigh, declared; when Kirk tried to protest, he raised his voice just a notch. “That’s my right, Captain, according to my status as the Special Emissary of the Twelve Worlds to the Federation. It has been clearly described in the charta between Starfleet and my government. And I intend to stay close to my wife, should those… _crawlons_ ,“ he used the word in Colonial Standard that actually meant spiders, but they didn’t have a general one for insects, “have any hidden agenda.”

“That’s what security is for,” Kirk muttered, still not liking the idea a bit. In his experience, diplomats always caused problems whenever they joined any mission of his.

Tigh leaned back in his chair and folded his arms before his chest.

“With all due respect, Captain, I’m sure that your security officers are good and well-trained, but their warrior instinct has rarely been needed in the last century or so. Unlike _mine_. You see potential allies in every species you get to deal with. I see potential enemies that are trying to kill me. And sometimes, just sometimes, that can be an advantage.”

Kirk didn’t look like someone who would give in easily, but McCoy laid a placating hand upon his forearm.

“Leave it be, Jim; he’s right, and you know that.”

No one could take the wind off Kirk’s sails quite as easily as the grumpy but fair-minded Leonard McCoy. Although they were only eleven years apart by age, the doctor usually treated his old friend and commanding officer like a talented child that would, nonetheless, need constant supervision. That irritated Kirk sometimes, but Leonard was such a good, decent person that he could not remain angry with him for long, so he usually gave in.

Just like this time.

“All right, Colonel, if that’s what you want,” he said sourly. “Your status as a diplomat does come with certain privileges.”

“Yes, it does,” Tigh replied coldly. “Privileges of which I intend to make full use in this particular case.”

Kirk shrugged. “As you wish. Well, Number One, I expect your report about the exact composition of both landing parties within the hour. Any other questions?”

“One,” Dr. Mulhall said. “What is our ETA at Antar Beta II?”

Kirk looked at Ilia. “Navigation?”

“By our current travelling velocity of Warp 5, approximately fourteen days, six hours and twenty-seven minutes, Captain,” the Deltan replied promptly, with almost Vulcan precision.

Kirk shook his head. “That’s too slow. Mister Sulu, increase speed to Warp 8, as soon as you return to the bridge.“

“Captain,” Scott protested, “my wee bairns cannae take Warp 8, not just yet! Our orders are to travel at Warp 5, and accordin’ to the new speed scala, that’s the highest travellin’ velocity I can give you and still keep the ship in one piece. We’re still doin’ repairs, sir!”

“I thought the engines have been newly refitted in the drydock,” Kirk said in surprise.

Scott nodded. “Aye, sir, and that’s why I would rather be careful with them.”

“All right,” Kirk sighed, with that familiar ‘why-is-the-whole-universe-conspiring-against-me’-expression on his face. “If you insist, Mister Scott, then by all means, let’s travel with Warp 5 for a little longer.”

Scott stared at him suspiciously, as if not quite believing in such relatively easy victory.

“Aye, Captain,” he finally said. “I hafta insist. She’s gone through a lot, our ship has, and while we’re almost done with the important repairs, she’ll still be needin’ a few test flights before we could go to high warp.”

“All right,” Kirk said resignedly. “Do what you have to do, Mister Scott. That will be all for the moment. Dismissed.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The senior officers rose from their seats to leave the conference room, Lamia trailing after them uncertainly. She still couldn’t quite understand why she had been invited to this staff meeting; after all, she could not contribute much, being just a junior security officer.

Unless, of course, the captain had invited her because her _shreva_ was a high-ranking diplomat. In which case, the courtesy was completely misplaced. Lamia had never been close to her _shreva_ ; neither had she inherited any of Stephaleh sh’Thirith diplomatic skills and would most likely fail her colleagues, should he have to mediate between them and the Dairu.

It was a depressing thought, and she hurried by Commander Uhura and her bondmate to return to her quarters and collect herself for the upcoming mission.

As they were drifting towards the door, Uhura took Tigh’s arm and shook her head, smiling tolerantly.

“Did you truly have to be so stubborn, Son of the Sun? I’m fairly sure that I won’t in any way be threatened on Antar Beta II. It is, however, not good for my career if you keep putting my commanding officer under pressure.”

“You can always start a brand new career as the attaché of the Libran councillor and Special Emissary of the Twelve Worlds to the Federation,” Tigh offered seriously. “You know the _Quorum of Twelve_ would value your previous experiences in Federation diplomacy highly… if you are not willing to simply exploit the privileges of my position, that is.”

“As if _you_ would do anything like that,” Uhura replied with a derisive snort. “We would both die of boredom as diplomats.”

“True enough,” Tigh smiled back at her; his dark, elegant features were illuminated and positively rejuvenated by that smile, Uhura found. “Which is why I intend to take the chance and join you on this planetary mission, Heart of Flame.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Uhura laughed again and shepherded him into the turbolift cabin. “Well, hurry up then! Or have you forgotten that we’ve been invited to dinner by Commodore Stone tonight?”

“I wish I could,” Tigh muttered, not a friend of formal dinners.” I wonder why he’d be so interested in _me_.”

The turbolift doors closed both of them, cutting off Uhura’s answer.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
While his colleagues were heading out, Xon remained behind; a clear sign that he had something to discuss with his commanding officer.

“Captain,” he said with icy politeness. “May I respectfully inquire why have you taken me off this planetary mission? I was supposed to go; and as both landing parties have already more than the standard six people, they cannot be beamed back at once in the case of an emergency. One more person would hardly matter.“

“It seemed more practical to send the Andorians,“ Kirk replied with a shrug.

Xon gave him his best Vulcan eyebrow in exchange.

“Is that so, sir? I for my part cannot see any logic in _not_ sending the science officer on a planetary mission of purely scientific nature. And considering that Antar Beta II is a very hot planet, I would be the best candidate for leading the mission. Additionally, the data we may be able to collect on this planet could be of crucial importance for any other world that might be threatened by a similar natural disaster in the future. Therefore it is important that they be collected, filed away and analysed correctly. For which, again, I am the best possible candidate.”

“All right, all right, Lieutenant,” Kirk muttered angrily. He was getting sick and tired of the constant confrontations with his new science officer. “If you’re so eager to go, then go. But I insist that you return to the ship every evening and process your data for the library computer.”

“That was my intention, sir,” the Vulcan replied innocently. “If I may depart now…”

“Dismissed,” Kirk all but spat.

He had a hard time to keep his anger under control, but he managed to do so – until all senior officers left. Only then did he afford the luxury of throwing his PADD against the nearest wall; with such force that the sensible piece of equipment broke beyond help.

“You’re taking this too personally, Jim,” commented McCoy, who – as it was the due of an old friend – remained behind for a moment. “The kid’s only doing his job… and he’s right, you’re not making it easy for him.”

Kirk frowned at him. “What do you mean, Bones?”

“Look at the facts realistically, Jim,” the doctor said with he usual ruthless honesty. “The kid _is_ your science officer, whether you like it or not. It’s his job to find out everything about this planet that there’s for silence to find. Or would you have ever gotten the idea to hinder Spock in doing his job?”

‘Yeah, but this guy _isn’t_ Spock,” Kirk returned.

“No, he isn’t,” the doctor agreed, his tired blue eyes utterly serious. “And the sooner you can accept that, the easier it will be for both of you, Jim. Think about it.”

With that, the good doctor left his commanding officer – his friend – alone. He’d said his part. The rest was up to Jim. The captain needed to accept the changes, if he wanted to go on, unhindered by the ballast of the past.


	4. Many Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Andorians having four genders originates from the post-series DS9 novels and thus can be considered semi-canon. Lamia herself is a book character from earlier novels. Admiral Nhauris is originally a Denebian in book canon – my character only shares the name.  
> Uhura’s temporary assignment as Captain Pike’s ship’s counselor is something that strictly belongs to my own corner of the Trekverse.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER 02 – MANY MEETINGS  
**  
Commodore Elijah Stone, the commanding officer of Starbase 13, was a man of imposing looks, in his early sixties. A man, who was still proud of his African origins, although his family had been living in North-America for centuries. The antigen-tests – developed by Vulcans – helped many African-Americans to seek out and find the people their ancestors had come from, and a surprisingly great number of them had chosen to return to those traditions that could be adapted for a life in the twenty-third century.

Stone’s ancestors hailed from East-Africa, from the Kikuyu people. That had been the basis for his friendship with Uhura’s father, which had started at the Academy and continued on with the extended family, even after the untimely death of Kyle Nichols. He considered Uhura as the daughter he never had, and Uhura saw in him an honorary uncle – one that could understand her wish to leave her homeland and travel among the stars, unlike her mother’s side of the family.

“I heard that Commodore Wesley wanted to lure your over to the _Lexington_ ,” ‘Hannibal’ Stone said, seemingly out of the blue.

They had already behind them the closest thing to a traditional African meal the food synthesizer could come up with and had arrived to the second glass of _mimbo_ (palm wine, manufactured on Earth in the old way and imported in stasis tanks to the frontier), and Stone looked supremely content with himself and his life. 

He owed his nickname partly to his origins, partly to his fleet-wide reputation as an excellent tactician; not to mention the fact that in his younger years he was the captain of the USS _Hannibal_ NCC-512. An old but tough little MK-VIII-class destroyer, which he had overhauled, refitted and assigned to Starbase 13, as an additional line of defence.

Being a Starfleet commodore had its perks, and Stone didn’t see why he should not put them to good use.

“That was years ago; before he would become the governor of Mantilles,” Uhura replied, smiling. “I must admit, the temptation was quite strong. The _Lexington_ was an excellent ship, with a captain who had his standards.”

Stone nodded. “Bob Wesley has always known how to woe people into his service. I must admit that I’ve always envied him for that particular talent.”

“Why is that?” Uhura laughed. “Do you need a new chief communications officer on your Starbase?”

Stone gave her a searching look. “Would you be interested? For a communications expert, this is probably the best place imaginable. The next great wave of Starfleet research will start from here, from the frontiers. You could have access to all that information first-hand. You could do your own research; choose your own projects… I’d give you free hand, you know that.”

Tigh, who knew all too well how important research was for his wife, how much Uhura wanted to make an impact in her chosen field, instead of being reduced to the role of a glorified phone operator, wondered silently if she would be able to resist such temptation. He would support her decision, whatever it might be.

Uhura, however, just shook her head, after an admittedly long moment of hesitation.

“Thank you, Elijah, but I’m afraid I cannot accept. I prefer to go aboard the _Enterprise_ to places where no one has gone before; to make those discoveries myself, instead of sitting in a neat little lab of a Starbase and waiting for someone to deliver me the ready-made data for processing.”

Stone didn’t seem terribly disappointed by her refusal; although he did try to keep up his stern appearance.

“I had the nagging feeling that you’d answer me something like that,” he said, grim-faced, but there was a smile hidden in his voice. “Very well; I see I’ll have to break out the really big guns.”

“Which would be… what exactly?” Uhura asked in surprise.

“I’m offering you the chance to do exactly what you’ve been trained for,” Stone replied. “This station represents the Federation in general and Starfleet in particular here, out in uncharted space. Soon, this will become an important launching point for research and diplomacy. I’m _not_ a diplomat – or else I’d be an admiral by now. Therefore, I need a counselor. A first-contact specialist who also knows a great deal about xenopsychology. Do you want to be that counselor? That’s what you originally wanted to become; and I could certainly need your help.”

“Yes, I can imagine that you do, and once I would have jumped at such an opportunity,” Uhura smiled, truly touched. “But that was before I’d met Imaro… I mean, Colonel Tigh. Were it my wish to switch to diplomacy, I could go to New-Libra with him and take over representative duties.”

“That’s not the same,” Stone said, vaguely insulted.

Uhura nodded. “No, of course not. But I don’t want to be separated from him; and he would have nothing to do here.”

“Why?” Stone asked. “Does he have anything important to do aboard the _Enterprise_?”

“He travels with us as a diplomatic observer, for which he has his own staff,” Uhura explained. “He has the right to join any landing parties he wants and to establish contacts on behalf of the New Colonies in the Kobol Sector.”

Stone gave the short, silent colonel a doubtful look. “And you’re doing _that_ voluntarily? You, a career military officer?”

“No,” Tigh replied without hesitation. “I’d prefer to have my own command, even if the ship weren’t bigger than a torpedo launcher with an engine attached to it. Right now, however, my people need me as a diplomat; besides, this way I can travel with Uhura.”

“I see,” Stone said slowly; and he did, really. Being a widower, he knew from first-hand experience what a rare luck it was within the fleet to be able to serve on the same ship as one’s spouse. “Should you change your mind, though…”

“…I’ll know how to find you,” Uhura finished for him. “In the meantime, you should contact Commander Deirdre Meaney; she was the best of our class and is currently bored out of her head at Starfleet Headquarters. Tell me I’ve sent you.”

“I will,” Stone paused for a moment; then he smiled. “It was good to see you again, Uhura. “It’s been too long.”

“Way too long,” Uhura agreed. “But now that we’ll be operating in this sector, we’ll hopefully get the chance to catch up. After all, you are the closest thing to family I have within Starfleet.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
** Lamia returned to her quarters and was surprised to find Ensign Keiko Tamura in her living area.

“I let myself in,” Keiko admitted. “You really should change the opening code of your door, you know.”

Lamia’s antennae turned towards each other in the Andorian equivalent of a shrug. “What for? You’re the only one beside me who knows it. And I trust you.”

“I’m honoured,” Keiko said, and she meant it. Andorians did not open up to outworldlers as a rule. “So, what’s with the long face?”

She’d known Lamia long enough to recognize the limply hanging antennae as a sure sign of depression.

“I’ve been assigned to the planetary mission,” Lamia replied gloomily. “The captain wanted an all-Andorian landing party, as we’re going to a planet populated by insectoids. He thought we’d be better at dealing with them than humans.”

Most other people would have been surprised by Lamia’s complete lack of enthusiasm about her assignment. Starfleet officers usually _loved_ planetary missions, especially if they got to see previously unknown planets in the process. Keiko Tamura, however, had learned enough about the peculiarities of Andorian society to understand what the problem was.

“Will it be very hard on you?” she asked gently, offering Lamia the comfort of touch by holding her hand.

“They won’t harass me, if that’s what you mean,” Lamia answered unhappily. “They’ll ignore me, though, as they’ve done since the start. I’m… nothing in their eyes. Charalemli th’Veileth serves in the same department as we do, but have you ever seen him speak with me – or even acknowledge my existence – since the beginning of this five-year-mission?”

Keiko called up Yeoman Lemli’s image before her inner eyes: that of a tall, broad-shouldered _thaan_ \- a representative of one of the Andorian genders that were tentatively acknowledged as male by outsiders, although they weren’t, not entirely. She could clearly see the deep-set, angry grey eyes, accentuated by bushy white brows; the deeply lined, rugged face that revealed Lemli as one beyond his youth and thus beyond his fertile cycle. Dark blue, with knobbly antennae rising from his rear parietal lobes, Lemli was a _Thallassan_ ; a member of the most numerous Andorian sub-species.

And he was also, unfortunately, a bigot, Keiko found.

“Lemli is a good officer but way too brick-headed,” she said. “I’m surprised that Lieutenant Brent would display the same behaviour, though. I’d have thought him more tolerant than that.”

“Thelzabrent ch’Reiji belongs to the same _quad_ – the same bondgroup – as th’Veileth,” Lamia explained. “He might not agree with his _thavan_ , but he’ll follow th’Veileth’s lead nonetheless.”

“If I understand correctly, it’s unusual for bondmates to pursue the same line of career after their offspring has outgrown the care of the family group,” Keiko said carefully. “They must be devoted to each other.”

“Ch’Reiji is a _Talish_ ; they value family even more than the rest of us,” Lamia replied. “The fact that they’ve created numerous offspring – which has become less and less frequent in these days, unfortunately – bonds them tighter to each other as usual.”

“To each other – but not to the women of the group?” Keiko asked with a frown.

She knew it wasn’t exactly correct to call _zhen_ and _shen_ ‘women’, but it made talking easier. Knowing that Keiko was aware of the differences, Lamia refrained from correcting her.

“The _zhavey_ of their bondgroup died in an accident, a few years ago,” she explained. “The _shreva_ had no interest in leaving the homeworld, so she offered to raise the children – they have six, if I’m not mistaken – while the _chan_ and the _than_ of the family travel among the stars together.”

“And as they’ve lost their own _zhen_ , they can’t tolerate the fact that you, a young and still fertile _zhen_ , refuse to do what your people consider their most sacred duty: the furthering of the species,” Keiko finished.

Lamia nodded unhappily.

“What about Mr. Thule?” Keiko continued her inquiry.

She avoided the pitfalls of Andorian clan names if she could – they were sheer impossible to pronounce for non-Andorians. Fortunately, Vanazhiz ch’Thule had voluntarily changed his name to the easier, Standardized version of Aziz Thule upon entering Starfleet – to the great relief of all his colleagues.

Lamia’s antennae turned towards each other in another shrug.

“Ch’Thule is more… progressive in his thinking, but not even he would want to have anything to do with an outcast,” she admitted.

“That’s gonna be one delightful mission,” Keiko pulled a face. “Especially with a greenhorn like Lieutenant Decker in charge. Thank God that at least Commander Uhura will come with us. She’s such a level-headed, no-nonsense person.”

“With us?” Lamia repeated in pleasant surprise. “Does it mean you’re coming, too?” Her antennae trembled in happy excitement.

Keiko nodded. “That’s what I’ve comet o tell you. I just got the orders from the XO. Don’t worry; I’ll stand to you if the guys get too unpleasant,” she patted Lamia’s hand encouragingly and added with twinkling eyes, “I’ll even beat them up for you if I have to.”

Considering how much stronger the average Andorian was than the average human, that promise would have been ridiculous, coming from anyone else. But Keiko Tamura was _not_ an average human. She was trained in a dozen martial arts, including such brutal disciplines as the Klingon _moQbara_ , the Vulcan _khy’lan_ and the _kharakom_ , the Andorian version of kickboxing. Even an Andorian had to take her seriously, despite her looking like a delicate porcelain doll.

Lamia consciously made the corners of her mouth turn upward. Smiling was not something that came naturally to Andorians, but many of them had learned to do it, because it made easier for them to interact with humans, for example.

“I’ll come back to your offer if I have to,” she said, her heart suddenly a great deal lighter.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The other three Andorians currently serving aboard the Enterprise – all three of them belonging to the genders considered male by outsiders – were meeting in _The Lodge_ at about the same time. _The Lodge_ was a formal term with deep significance. It meant a temporary-but-stable community, in which Andorians, with or without blood ties, lived together amongst non-Andorian majorities.

On a Starfleet ship, a colony or a Starbase, that meant to combine several living quarters, where they could sleep and dine communally, as they were used from their homeworld. Families not always joined _The Lodge_ , but it was very rare for any single Andorian to live outside it.

Unless they were cast out of Andorian society and thus not tolerated by their own kind, that is.

Aboard the refitted _Enterprise_ , one of the VIP staterooms had been modified to serve as _The Lodge_ of the resident Andorians. It was located on Deck E, Level 5, where no other such quarters were permanently occupied. VIP quarters had been chosen because – unlike those meant for senior officers – they had two single beds in the sleeping area. Simply adding a third bed was much easier than break through the bulkheads of crew quarters to create a larger, shared area.

As an individual, no one of them would have been entitled to such luxurious accommodations, but as a group, this was the simplest possible solution. The dining booth module enabled them to eat together, and they could share the spacious bath, the storage area and the walk-in closet; could work in shifts at the library computer terminal or use the personal communications station in the living area.

Humans would have found such living conditions a bit crowded for three people. For the Andorians, used to live in close quarters since childhood and having a very different concept of privacy, it was more than enough.

In fact, it would have been enough for another person added, had Lamia not been an outcast.

“Have you got your orders?” Lemli asked when the other two entered through the slide doors. Though the lowest-ranking one – in Starfleet terms at least – the others had accepted his leadership from the beginning.

Brent nodded; his flimsy, stalk-like antennae that grew from his front parietal lobes, were trembling with excitement.

“This promises to be an interesting mission,” he said. He was a slender, almost grey-skinned _chen_ with strangely violet eyes and devoted to scientific research. “Especially for a communications expert. I can’t wait to study the language of the Dairu and the possible deviations that have certainly developed since the colony had left Kaferia.”

“Good for you,” Lemli replied morosely. “You get to work with Commander Uhura; while I’ll have to endure the presence of that unworthy _zhen_ again!”

Thule, a light-skinned, wiry _chen_ from the second-most numerous _Bishee_ population, with straight antennae rising from just above his forehead, rolled his dark eyes in exasperation.

“If you mean Ensign ar’Rhaniach, then you might want to remember that she’s your superior officer and that Starfleet regulations expect you to treat her with a modicum of respect,” he said dryly.

“Such as she don’t _deserve_ respect!” Lemli hissed. “Those who are courting death by refusing to create life ought to become their wish!”

Ch’Thule tilted his head to the side earnestly, his antennae rigid with shock.

“Are you suggesting the assassination of a superior officer, just because her way of living insults your personal beliefs?” he asked.

Coming from a human, that would have been a joke. But Andorians didn’t make jokes. Especially not about the most sacred principle of their lives, upon which their entire society was built.

“Because if you do, I must warn you that I won’t have any part in it,” ch’Thule continued utterly seriously. “When I joined Starfleet, upon the death of my bondmates, I’ve accepted that I’d be living accordingly to a very different set of rules than I did back on the _Vezhdar Plain_ of _Zhevra_. If you cannot do the same, then you’re not suited to wear that uniform.”

Lemli’s eyes became bloodshot with rage.

“How do you _dare_ …” he hissed; his whole body tensed, ready to lounge at ch’Thule, who remained unimpressed.

“I dare because that is the truth,” he replied calmly. “Whether you like it or not, she’s your superior officer. There may come a situation in which she’ll give you orders. Ignore them as you’ve ignored her all the time, and you’ll get court-martialled sooner than I can short-circuit a security door.”

For which, as everybody knew, Aziz Thule needed approximately twelve seconds. In Standard measure.

“Ch’Thule is right, _Th’se_ ,” Brent murmured, using the endearment reserved for bondmates to placate his enraged spouse. “You know that there are certain things where Starfleet’s tolerance for personal beliefs does have its limits. The chain of command is one of those; probably the most important one.”

“Easy for you to speak,” Lemli growled. “You won’t be forced to work with that… that _person_ ; neither of you.”

“That is by no means certain,” Brent replied. “We most likely all will have to work with her during this mission. And as Starfleet officers we’ll be expected to act professionally. Or else we’d disgrace our clan and family.”

“It’s a disgrace to breathe the same air as one who’s run away from the _shelthreth_ and doomed her bondgroup for infertility,” Lemli snapped.

“Actually, it wasn’t her fault,” Thule said. “They went through _shelthreth_ all right – but it failed. It’s said their _shen_ was unable to conceive. After several unsuccessful attempts, she was released from the bond and the elders were frantically looking for a new _shen_ to make the group _Whole_ again. _That_ was when Lamia finally ran away.”

Brent curved his antennae towards his fellow _chen_ in interest. “Where did you hear that?”

Thule’s antennae turned slightly to each other in response: a shrug. “She’s a _Bishee_ from _Vezhdar Plain_ like myself. The Old Clans keep track on each other.”

“She’s originally from one of the Old Clans?” Brent was clearly surprised. “Which one?”

“Vezdi,” Thule replied. “She was once known as _Charilamia zh’Vezdi_ , fourth in the line to become the ruling _zhavey_ of her clan.”

The other two were stunned, and with right. Vezdi Clan was one of the oldest, most powerful ones among the inland dwellers. They had a seat in the planetary council, and many members of the clan were politically active: both on the homeworld or in the service of the Federation. In fact…

“Isn’t she related to Ambassador Stephaleh sh’Thirith, then?” Lemli finally asked.

Thule nodded. “She’s sh’Thirith’s _zhei_ ; which is another reason to be decent to her. She _might_ reconcile with her family one day.”

“And, unless I’m mistaken, sh’Thirith is the _shi_ of Admiral zh’Nhauris,” Brent added for more effect.

He was not mistaken, of course, and the others knew it. Everyone in Starfleet knew that Admiral zh’Nhauris and Ambassador sh’Thirith were sisters – or the Andorian equivalent of that. It was the fact that their resident outcast had such influential family that rocked Lemli; even if said family didn’t want anything to do with her at the moment.

That could change in the future, when tempers had cooled down a little.

“She’s an embarrassment for them, of course,” Brent continued, “but that doesn’t mean that zh’Nhauris wouldn’t keep one of her antennae turned in her direction all the time. She takes her obligations as _tij’ra_ very seriously.”

Of course she did. Family obligations were sacrosanct for all Andorians; the _shi_ of one’s _zhavey_ or _shevra_ – assuming that such a relative existed in the first place – was the most important person in a young _zhen_ ’s life. The human equivalent ‘maternal aunt’ couldn’t even come close to express such importance. 

Sh’Thirith might have changed her name, so that people would not immediately associate her with a Starfleet admiral – that could prove disadvantageous in diplomatic negotiations – but that fact didn’t make zh’Nhauris any less interested in the offspring of her _shi_. Especially as she wasn’t just the _tij’ra_ ; she was also the ruling _zhavey_ of her clan.

All these things became soberingly clear for Lemli within seconds. He might be a bigot, but he was by no means an idiot.

“I’m doomed, aren’t I?” he asked from the universe in general, his antennae rigid with tension. Brent embraced him, their antennae touching briefly.

“Nonsense, _Th’se_. I’m sure Ensign ar’Rhaniach won’t hold against you that you’ve been treating her according to her outcast status; as all Andorian would.”

“You may wish to hold back a little in the future, though,” ch’Thule added, his antennae curling inward and nearly touching each other in amusement. “Just to be on the safe side.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Only one deck above the Andorians’ head, Vulcan scientist T’Pel was entertaining guest. Namely, she was having seya – Vulcan herbal tea the synthesizers could never get right, so it was always prepared from real leaves – with Lieutenant Xon and one of the medical technicians, a small, shrew-faced Rigelian woman named Sealon; two of the very few people aboard ship who were _not_ bothered by the heat and heightened gravity in her quarters.

“I have invited Lieutenant T’Rada as well, but she defused,” she told her guests. “Something work-related, apparently.”

“You mean she found it beneath her dignity to socialize with us,” Sealon snorted; unlike her Vulcan cousins, she didn’t see it as her mission to find excuses for thinly veiled Vulcan rudeness. “I wonder what she’ll do when the new crewmembers arrive. According to the info sent us to Sickbay, one of them is a linguist. A Terran cadet.”

“That will prove a true challenge for T’Rada,” T’Pel commented, with a shadow of irony upon her dark, beautiful face. “I am surprised that we are to become additional crew, though. I had the impression that all positions aboard this ship are already taken.”

“They are,” Xon replied; as the second officer, it was part of his job to know such things. “However, Starfleet offers post-graduate cadets the chance to spend a year aboard a starship to experience space exploration first hand. It is my understanding that Cadet Brevi is one of those students. Her scientific references are quite outstanding for a human; her psychoprofile, on the other hand… I am relieved that it is T’Rada who will have to work with her, not I.”

“Why?” Sealon’s eyes glittered with professional interest. “She can’t be totally psychotic, or else she wouldn’t have been accepted by the Academy. So what’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing is _wrong_ with her _per se_ ,” Xon’s fine-boned, faun-like face assumed a somewhat… painful expression. “She is said to have self-esteem issues, though; and it is mentioned that she is quite verbose.”

“You mean she talks a lot?” Saelon laughed, but there was no real malice in her laughter; two of her five spouses were human, after all, so she was used to Terran idiosyncrasies. “Well, I’m sure T’Rada will master the challenge with unshaken dignity.”

“That is a logical assumption,” T’Pel agreed, but her jewelled eyes were sparkling with hidden amusement. “Who else is coming?”

“A civilian healer by the name of T’Nira,” Xon replied, sipping his scalding hot _seya_ ; after long hours in the ship’s cold human environment, he felt the heat of the traditional beverage seep to the mark of his bones – it was a pleasant feeling. “She spent several years working for the rehabilitation institute on Elba II and asked for a deep space assignment to widen her professional horizon. A most recommendable choice.”

“A Vulcan healer?” Sealon was delighter. “I’ve never worked with one; it may prove interesting. Assuming that she’s any good, of course.”

“Trust me; she is one of the best of her generation,” Xon said.

Sealon raised an almost Vulcan eyebrow. “Are her credentials that good? Come on, Xon, tell us; only senior officers get to see them, and nagging Doctor McCoy for any details would take forever!”

“They are good enough,” Xon replied. “But my knowledge comes from personal experience.”

“You know her?” T’Pel asked.

“Superficially,” Xon said. “We have rarely met, although she is one of my cousins. But her family lives on Vulcan, near the Nether Seas, while mine has migrated to Vulcana Regar two generations ago.”

“That must be satisfying; to have family on board,” T’Pel commented, sounding just a little wistfully.

“You could have applied for an assignment aboard the _Intrepid_ ,” Xon reminded her. “To travel with your father and your betrothed. Commander Sonak would have pulled the necessary strings; you are his only child, after all.”

Unlike humans, Vulcans saw nothing wrong with a little nepotism. They didn’t _see_ it as nepotism, in fact. In their eyes, having family members on the same ship during deeps space exploration was the most logical arrangement.

“I have no doubt that he would,” T’Pel agreed. “But for me, working on a ship full of Vulcans would be a professional setback. I am a sociologist and a linguist; it is my chosen field to work with other cultures.”

“That is certainly correct,” Xon allowed. “Do you receive the necessary support from the human scientists on board? I find their behaviour when dealing with Vulcans ambivalent at best, which is surprising. I did not expect them to be this prejudiced.”

This was a very personal matter, which he would not broach under normal circumstances. But Commander Sonak, T’Pel’s father, had been his personal supporter during his studies – again, a time-honoured Vulcan custom Humans did not seem to understand – and as such he was considered _family_.

And on Vulcan, supporting family ranked above any other considerations.

Before T’Pel could have answered, though, Nurse Sealon snorted in amusement. She had a hang to produce the strongest, most meaningless noises, Xon found.

“Lieutenant, the humans on this ship – at least those who have served aboard the _Enterprise_ for a long time – don’t have any problems with Vulcans in general,” she said bluntly. “They have a problem with _you_.”

“I know,” Xon suppressed the very un-Vulcanlike urge to sigh. “They do not want _me_ here. They want Commander Spock.”

“That is part of the problem,” Sealon agreed. “The other part of it is, though, that you are young, inexperienced – and arrogant. You behave as if you knew everything better, and humans tend to find that irritating. Not that I’d blame them for _that_ ,” she added wryly.

“But I _do_ know everything better!” Xon said in honest surprise. He was a genius, even by Vulcan measures, raised on a purely scientific colony – he was simply _better_.

“No, you don’t,” Sealon corrected. “You might have more data in that pretty little head of yours than the average computer, and you might have abilities, physical and mental ones, no ordinary human can compete with. But you have very little _experience_ – something most humans on board have in spades. Even Lieutenant Decker, although new on his post, beats you in _that_ area. So if I were you, I’d cut back on the arrogance a bit and would open my eyes to _learn_ from them.”

For a moment Xon remained silent, his face ad unreadable as only that of a very surprised Vulcan could be.

“I shall consider your opinion,” he finally said.

Sealon nodded. “You do that. It might help you to deal with your human crewmates better.”

“Perhaps,” Xon allowed. “I welcome the chance to have more Vulcans on board, though. Especially those who are family.”

The others nodded in understanding. Family and clan played a much more important role in Vulcan society than, say, among humans. Having family in a foreign environment was even more meaningful. It meant a piece of _home_.


	5. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant T’Rada, T’Nira and Tosca Brevi are original characters, loosely based on people I used to know. Lieutenant Philips is canon. Lieutenant Park is briefly mentioned in one of the unfilmed scripts as a human character. I turned her into a Tellarite to have a more mixed crew.
> 
> As before, the possible effects of a supernova explosion on the animal and plant life of an Earth-like planet are borrowed from the excellent book “What If the Moon Wasn’t There?”

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

**CHAPTER 03 – PREPARATIONS  
**  
Lieutenant T’Rada, head of the linguistic department of the _Enterprise_ , liked solitude. Not really surprising for a Vulcan; but T’Rada tended to withdraw even from her fellow Vulcans, most of the time. As a rule, Vulcans formed small, exclusive circles in such foreign environment as the mostly human _Enterprise_ crew; however, T’Pel and Lieutenant Xon didn’t belong to the category T’Rada liked to socialize with.

For starters, they were both half her age; both before the first _Rapture_ still, and T’Rada preferred the company of people of her own age. And then, although they were both scientists, their field did not overlap with hers – T’Pel being a practical linguist, not a theoretician – so they had hardly anything in common. And small talk was _not_ one of the few bad habits even Vulcans would develop from time to time.

Therefore it was perfectly understandable that T’Rada spent her time either in the solitude of her lab or in the solitude of her quarters and only made a public appearance when her job demanded it.

This was such a rare occasion, and T’Rada stomped down on her slowly building annoyance with the help of the famous Vulcan self-discipline as she was heading to the transporter room. She had to welcome a Terran cadet who, for some unexplainable reason, had been assigned to her by the Linguistic Institute of Starfleet Academy. As tutoring a cadet during his or her post-gradual year was considered an honourable task, she couldn’t refuse, of course – despite the fact that the assignment had come at the least convenient time.

T’Rada was a tall, lanky woman, even for a Vulcan, with short, curly dark hair that she wore in the same fashion as the males of her people. This decidedly unfeminine hairdo revealed the fact that her ears were sticking out, and what was more, the left one in a more awkward angle than the right one. Her earrings – basically thin golden chains hanging free – emphasized this insignificant little flaw, but T’Rada couldn’t be bothered by that. She didn’t care much about her looks in general; when off-duty, she preferred oversized tunics and trousers.

“She’s astonishingly bedraggled for a Vulcan,” Nancy Wong, the personnel chief of the _Enterprise_ , had once said, and it was true – but only where T’Rada’s _looks_ were concerned. Her _mind_ was perfectly, painstakingly well-ordered, and one could expect it to work accordingly to the high expectations of its owner.

Which it did, most of the time… just not in the current case, and _that_ was the true reason for T’Rada’s – naturally well-concealed – annoyance.

Her treacherous brain had unexpected difficulties with understanding the peculiar Dairu speech, which consisted of both spoken language and sign language. Due to her superior intelligence and the impeccable logic of her learning methods, she ought to have been in advantage compared with her colleagues – with Commander Uhura, for example, who might be a well-trained specialist but was, in the end, just a human.

Instead, Uhura assimilated the Dairu language – a true challenge for the best of the best among linguists – without any visible effort. While T’Rada, repeatedly decorated by the _Linguistic Institute_ of the _Vulcan Academy of Sciences_ , could hardly report any headway. Never during her professional career had she experienced such frustration. She was grateful to Surak, the father of Vulcan logic, that the mental discipline of her people spared her any stress-induced headaches from which other, less disciplined people so often suffered, lessening the already lacking efficiency of their work even more.

Humans had a saying about that: something about counting one’s small blessings. She refused to believe in the concept – discipline was something achieved by active efforts, not something that fell into one’s lap – but had to admit that the outcome was the same.

Putting away such illogical considerations, she squared her shoulders and entered the transporter complex to face her new student. There was no logic in putting off the inevitable.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
To her surprise, she not only found the duty technician at the transporter console, but also Dr. M’Benga, a tall human doctor of African origins and of rather bad posture. The only human aboard the _Enterprise_ whose company she, if not directly liked, at least found vaguely acceptable. 

Geoffrey M’Benga had worked in the clinic of the _Vulcan Academy of Sciences_ for three years and was one of the very few outworldlers who had been honoured with the Vulcan citizenship – not the least for his ground-breaking research concerning Vulcan physiology and its adaptability to alien biotopes. Therefore T’Rada considered him _almost_ an equal and politely inquired about the reason for his presence.

They were about to rendezvous with a Vulcan science vessel, after all.

“I’m getting a new trainee, too,” the doctor explained readily. “She’s an apprentice healer and wants to specialize in multispecies-medicine, which is why she has applied for a place in Starfleet’s civilian support programme. And since I’m the only human Starfleet physician who’s ever worked in a Vulcan ward, I was apparently the logical choice.

T’Rada appreciated the detailed precision of the man’s answer. It _almost_ matched general Vulcan expectations. Under such circumstances, asking a further question could not be considered a weakness from her side.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“A young woman by the name of T’Nira,” the doctor replied. “Do you happen to know her, by any chance?”

“My field is in social sciences, not in medicine, Doctor.”

M’Benga’s dark face lit up in unsmiling amusement.

“That may be so, Lieutenant. However, it’s been my… _fascinating_ experience that if any two Vulcans started digging deep enough in the history of their respective families, they’d inevitably find out after a while that they’re either related in some degree or they have some common associates who have provided both families with ‘valuable service’ as it’s said, I think. By fourteen billion people, that’s an impressive achievement, I’d say.”

Their discussion was interrupted by the comm signal. Lieutenant O’Neil, the transporter operator on duty, answered it according to regulations.

“This is the transporter room of the USS Enterprise, ready to accept new crewmembers,” he said crisply.

“Understood, _Enterprise_ ,” a remote, unmistakably Vulcan male voice answered. “Two persons ready to transport… now. Energizing.”

Two columns of golden energy shimmered up on stands Number one and two of the transporter platform. They glittered for a second or two, and then materialized into solid forms: those of two young women.

“Transfer complete,” the Vulcan transporter operator told them.

“Acknowledged,” O’Neil replied. “ _Enterprise_ out,” he shut off his console; then he turned to the newcomers. “Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_ , ladies.”

T’Rada looked at the Vulcan medic first. The young, _very_ young woman wore the usual loose, sand-coloured trousers and wide-cut, practical tunic of all healers, with the ever-present medkit slung over her shoulder. Her long, wavy auburn hair and her slightly bulging brown eyes revealed that she was from the area near the Lesser Seas. It was a blemish that often occurred in that province, but no-one would come to the illogical thought of correcting it by a cosmetic operation when the organ was otherwise healthy. All in all, T’Nira made the same calm, competent impression T’Rada was used to from other, much older healers. Remarkable.

T’Rada was about to properly greet her fellow Vulcan with the traditional _ta’al_ salute when the other young woman stepped – stepped? More like stumbled! – down from the transporter platform. She was as tall as T’Rada herself, wearing the duty uniform of a Starfleet cadet – an unattractive grey overall with the blue shoulder patches of Sciences – that, unfortunately, could not quite camouflage her bad posture. The uniform also seemed at least one size too large and wasn’t tidy enough for the high standards of the Vulcan.

The girl’s ash blond hair was bound in an equally untidy knot on the back of her head. She blinked at them enthusiastically – was she myopic? And if she was, why had she not had it corrected? – along her slightly long nose, and before anyone could have stopped her, she grabbed T’Rada’s had with both of her own and shook it vigorously.

“Lieutenant, I’m Cadet Tosca Brevi, and I must say it’s an honour to work with you!” she exclaimed.

Not only M’Benga and the two Vulcans were stunned for a moment; even an experienced officer like O’Neil could hardly react. For a stranger to shake the hand of a Vulcan was a serious violation of proper etiquette.

T’Rada noticed the embarrassment of the others, but she also knew that – when the young woman was so ignorant or completely lacked the manners one could have expected from a Starfleet graduate – it would have been equally rude from her to snatch her hand away. Therefore all she could do was to endure her hand being pumped up and down by the human.

Had she had a moment to prepare herself for the contact, she would have slammed down her mental shields, but she had not. So her mind was immediately flooded with Tosca Brevi’s emotions and superficial thoughts. Those were the usual human thoughts: undisciplined but very intense ones, weighed down by some indefinable sorrow. Beneath them, however, the crystalline grid of impressive knowledge and logic could be glimpsed.

There was definitely more potential in Tosca Brevi than anyone would have given her credit for at first sight. That, of course, did not excuse her rude behaviour. 

As establishing a telepathic link required time and concentration from a Vulcan, they also needed a moment to raise their mental shields against unwelcome telepathic echoes. T’Rada could not protect herself from casual touches all the time, not even by her solitary lifestyle, but she usually managed to ignore them. On the other hand, the crew of the _Enterprise_ – at least those who had served with Spock – was used to stay away from touching a Vulcan… most of the time anyway.

T’Rada tried to answer to rudeness with politeness, and she did her best to keep out of the cadet’s thoughts. Even so, she was mildly shocked by the girl’s apparent lack of confidence and the constant self-castigation that seemed to define her personality.

Cooperation didn’t promise to be easy.

As soon as she’d managed to raise her shields, T’Rada withdrew her hand. M’Benga shot her an apologetic look, as if the other human’s rudeness had been his fault – a reaction that obviously lacked logic, but the three years he’d spent on Vulcan were apparently not enough to balance out the millennia-long handicap of the human race.

On her way out she heard M’Benga talk to T’Nira in the rather primitive dialect of the Nether Seas. That was the dialect outworldlers usually could learn with relative ease, as it lacked most of the specific guttural sounds so characteristic for the classic High Vulcan. The doctor’s pronunciation was surprisingly correct; most likely a result of his origins. Some African languages produced similar sounds. T’Rada wondered briefly what kind of Vulcan it was that her new trainee – according to her Starfleet file – supposedly spoke.

Deciding to clear the traumatic question later, she called Tosca Brevi to follow her.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“At the moment we haven’t got any nursing cases in Sickbay,” M’Benga explained _his_ new trainee, while shepherding her to the Intensive Care Unit. For the sake of duty personnel, they’d returned to the use of Federations Standard. “So I thought this would be a good time for you to get used to working with Gem.”

“Is that generally considered as difficult?” T’Nira asked, eyeing the nine up-to-date biobeds fanning out from the duty nurse’s station with professional appreciation. 

The new design of the ICU was practical and logical, and as a Vulcan she couldn’t help but be pleased by that fact. If more privacy was called for, the beds could be separated by translucent walls or force-fields, and the duty nurse could watch them all from her station in the focal point through the control monitor; as well as see each and every bed at one glance.

“Usually it isn’t,” M’Benga replied, pushing the call button. “However, for a Vulcan it may not be so easy. Have you ever met a Minaran empath?”

“Not yet,” she replied automatically; then she understood the true meaning of the question. “They are the species that uses emotions as a way of communication… _and_ for healing, are they not?”

The doctor nodded. “More or less, yeah. Thanks to the Deltans, they’ve made great progress in the recent years. Gem, for example, understands half a dozen Federation languages, inclusive Standard. She can’t actually _speak_ them, of course, since her species doesn’t have vocal cords, but she can answer in written form and always has a PADD on her.”

“The problem seems to be therefore that we cannot communicate directly, as my people reject emotions, while hers use them as the main method of understanding,” T’Nira summarized.

“Exactly,” the doctor agreed. “Your psychoprofile shows the necessary open-mindedness to deal with such a situation according to our expectations; but theory and praxis are two very different things, as we know. Should you come to the realization that working under such circumstances would be too much for you, nobody would blame you. All we ask is that you _try_.”

“I shall do my best,” T’Nira promised. “After all, this is why I applied for this training year: to learn how to treat foreign species.”

The quiet swoosh of the opening doors could be heard behind them, and M’Benga turned around to the newcomer.

“Ah, Christine, good,” he bowed slightly, first to the woman entering, then to his trainee. “This is T’Nira, a Vulcan healer assigned to us for the next two years of this mission. T’Nira, this is our head nurse, Christine Chapel, doctor of biochemistry and soon also of general medicine. She’ll be your direct superior while you are on board.”

Christine Chapel, looking somewhat older yet a lot more natural since she’d stopped bleaching her hair, produced the traditional Vulcan salute with practiced ease.

“Welcome aboard, T’Nira. I’m always glad whenever we get trainees assigned to us. Unfortunately, Starfleet Medical tends to overcrowd the sickbays of starships with doctors and lab technicians; well-trained nurses, on the other hand, have become a rare sight.”

“Starfleet Medical has full trust in the diagnostic computers,” M’Benga said with a shrug.

“Unlike our boss,” Christine sighed; then she smiled at T’Nira in a decidedly motherly manner. “Count on having to work full duty shifts. I only have one nurse for each shift; they’ll be grateful to get the one or other free hour.”

“That is what I am here for,” T’Nira said simply.

“That’s the spirit!” Chapel beamed at her; then she turned to M’Benga. “Cindy Lou was looking for you, Ben. Apparently, routine checks have shown an anomal _varenalase_ level in Lieutenant Xon’s blood; she wants you to take a look at it.”

 _Varenalase_ was the Vulcan equivalent of human adrenaline. Rising levels in one’s blood could have various reasons, none of them promising.

“That is a congenital deviation that does by no means influence his general state of health – or the efficiency of his performance under duress,” T’Nira told them, to everyone’s surprise.

“Do you know him well enough to vouch for _that_?” M’Benga asked, not fully convinced.

“I have met him a few times in Clan business,” T’Nira answered pedantically. “But we barely know each other.”

“Does it mean that the two of you are related?” Christine Chapel pressed. “Is he your cousin or whatnot?”

“Vulcan family relations are rather… complicated,” T’Nira said thoughtfully. “My father’s father’s sister’s daughter is Xon’s mother. Therefore we are connected by a second-grade family relation that extends over three generations.”

M’Benga frowned and let the rather confusing explanation filter through that which he knew about Vulcan family connections.

“In other words: he _is_ your cousin,” he concluded.

It was T’Nira’s turn to frown now. “If Vulcans had the same family concept as humans, your conclusion would be just about correct, Doctor,” she finally decided.

“Why didn’t you simply say so in the first place?” Chapel asked in surprise.

“I believe I just have, Nurse,” T’Nira replied, equally surprised.

M’Benga suppressed a smile.

“I’m going to the xenobiology lab now, to put Celinda Louise’s mind at ease, concerning Lieutenant Xon’s state of health,” he said, aiming his words at the young Vulcan healer. “Nurse Chapel will guide you through the rest of our medical facilities and show you your quarters.”

“Gladly,” the head nurse gave T’Nira a motherly smile. “Come with me, please. I’ll inform you about everything you may need to know.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“Is it beyond doubt that the Dairu on Antar Beta Two have no way to survive the supernova explosion?” Lieutenant Marlena Moreau supported her heavy black bun with a slim hand as she bent over the complex chemical diagrams displayed on the horizontal viewscreen of her desk by her immediate superior, the _Enterprise_ ’s head astrochemist.

“We have to make a difference between short-term and long-term survival,” replied Dr Mulhall instead of Lieutenant Gates. “For a short while many of them might survive if they all moved underground for a few years. The rock would absorb virtually all of the ultraviolet rays, X-rays, Gamma rays and most of the cosmic rays. It is fortunate that their birth caves have been built under the earth from the beginning.”

“That won’t help them much, though,” Lieutenant Park, the Tellarite radiation biologist furred her narrow (for a Tellarite anyway) nose in concern and bent closer to the screen as her short-sighted eyes couldn’t make out the finer details. “They can’t have the necessary agriculture under the planet’s surface, unless they can store a sufficient supply of seed in safely isolated storage rooms. And even if they could, in the long run it wouldn’t work without sunlight or proper ersatz illumination.”

“What about hydroponics?” Lieutenant Gates asked.

Park shook her head. “With contaminated water? It’s hopeless.”

“Which means the disruption of the food chain and all possible mutations,” Lieutenant Philips, Dr Mulhall’s Dutch second-in-command nodded in agreement. “New plants and animals will emerge and suppress – or drive out completely – all other species.”

“Concerning plant life, the all-deciding question will be how far the individual species can adopt to the changes in the chemistry of the soil,” Dr Leila Kalomi, the _Enterprise_ ’s botanist commented. The young, exotic Hawaiian scientist was new on board; she had been assigned to the _Enterprise_ at the beginning of the current five-year-mission. “A whole new ecosystem will take shape, in which the old species probably won’t be able to exist anymore. The new, mutated species will most likely prove a lot more resistant.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Barbara Gates pressed.

“Surviving plants and animals would undergo genetic mutations due to the supernova’s radiation,” Dr Kalomi explained. “These alterations would begin with the very next generation conceived after the radiation arrived there. As with mutations that occur in the normal course of evolution, most of the genetic changes would lead to the immediate death of the altered plant,” she found it easier to talk about plants, they being her area of expertise. “As with normal mutations, a few changes would be beneficial, thus enabling the possessors of these new genes to thrive. Although there would be countless deaths due to genetic failure, I’m fairly certain that there also would be a relatively large number of successful mutations – relative, that is, to the normal state of evolution.”

“When nothing extraordinary happens, the existing species have the opportunity to adjust to one mutation in their food chain at a time,” Dr Mulhall took over. “If, for example, a specific Kaferian insect developed a secretion on its carapace that was poisonous to all predators, the insect in question would be able to increase in numbers relative to its population before the new, protective mutation occurred. Rather than being the middle of a global food chain all over Kaferia, that particular insect would suddenly be at the top of its own, local chain. Animals relaying on that insect for food would have to find alternative nourishment or face extinction.”

“On the other hand, the poisonous insect population would rapidly grow and eat up all of its normal food resources,” Kees Philips supplied. “It would then face extinction itself. A new food chain would be established by the time another major mutation occurred to one of the life forms involved.”

“The food chain, to which the hypothetical poisonous insects originally belonged, only had to adapt to one alteration,” Xon added. “Post-supernova food chains, however, would be disrupted by new strains of life at all levels simultaneously. It would be virtually impossible for such changes to be incorporated in existing prey-predator relationships. Rather, these relationships would all break down. Nature would have an enormous task rebuilding the hierarchies of life after the supernova.”

“Not to mention the fact that Antar Beta Two doesn’t have any indigenous animal life to begin with,” Dr Mulhall commented. “The planet is relatively young still, with barely any native flora. Most of the plant life – as well as the only animals living there – were brought by the Dairu themselves; from their early colonies or from Kaferia itself.”

“What are the chances for a new hierarchy of life emerging on Antar Beta Two, despite the supernova explosion?” Cindy Lou Johnson, representing the exobiology lab on the meeting, asked.

“Approximately zero,” Dr Mulhall replied sadly.

“That is not entirely correct, Doctor,” Xon said. “According to my estimate, there is a probability of eight point six nine per cent that the ecosphere of the planet might spontaneously regenerate, given enough time. However, that is only true for indigenous life forms, not for the Dairu colonists,” he added matter-of-factly.

The humans present managed _not_ to answer anything to _that_. But, as Dr Mulhall later commented, it had been a very close call.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When Antar Beta II showed up on the large viewscreen of the main bridge, every experienced Starfleet officer saw at once that they were approaching a Class M-world. Although the planet was somewhat larger than Earth, its gravitation and its atmospheric and weather conditions fell well within the Justman-curve – meaning that if was, theoretically, capable of supporting humanoid life. Even though it was populated by insectoids.

Being Class M didn’t necessarily mean that any given world would offer an aesthetic view as seen from space. _This_ planet, however, was literally breath-taking in its cloud-wreathed, amber and aquamarine glory. Uhura, this time watching the screen from behind Captain Kirk’s chair instead from her usual place at the comm – since she had been scheduled to lead a landing party – tried to imagine what this would look like, once the already spectacular view was enriched by the deadly beauty of multiple cosmic radiations.

“What a waste!” muttered Tigh, standing somewhat farther back, near to Science Station Two as was his wont. “So much beauty… only to be utterly destroyed!”

“This is a cruel universe, Colonel,” Dr Mc Coy replied with quiet, solemn grief colouring his voice, instead of his dry sense of humour.

“Approaching planetary orbit, Captain,” Sulu reported evenly; in his own way, the helmsman could be as unshakable as any Vulcan.

“Go back to half impulse,” Kirk ordered. “Prepare to enter planetary orbit, Lieutenant Ilia.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” the Deltan navigator replied with her lilting accent. “Ready to enter orbit at your mark.”

Kirk nodded ad looked at Communications. “Open hailing frequencies.”

“Hailing frequencies open,” Liv Palmer replied promptly.

Uhura felt the odd contraction around her heart. It was strange to hear those words from somebody else. She stole a quick glance at the comm console where her blonde, Swedish second was working with calm competence. Thigh caught her stolen glance and gave her a faint smile.

“Antar Beta Two is answering, sir,” Palmer reported.

“Onscreen, Lieutenant.”

Palmer threw as with and the viewscreen lit up – quite literally. Uhura had to close her eyes, though the extreme radiance wasn’t really surprising. Antar Beta’s luminosity exceeded that of Sol so much that when the external view was replaced by that of a dimly lit room, at first they could barely make out the outlines of a creature sitting in front of the screen.

Kirk gestured to Palmer to correct the filters, and the image gained more light and contrast. The triangular face looking down at them seemed to consist of metal plates that had been arranged in odd angles – Ann Mulhall was reminded of a man-sized ebony mantis. The long, thin nose of the Dairu bent downward, towards a pointy chin and strong mandibles. When it realized that it was being watched, it raised a graceful, three-fingered claw-hand and began to speak.

“Captain James T. Kirk from the Federation Starship _Enterprise_ ,” it said in the multitonal, singsong voice of its kind. “We of the Dairu greet you. How can we be of assistance to our esteemed trade partners from the Federation?”

While speaking, it was making graceful gestures with the upper pair of its arms; gestures no-one but Uhura could interpret.

“She assures us in the sign language that we are very welcome indeed,” the communications officer translate din a low voice. “At the same time she expresses curiosity about the reason of our presence.”

“Well, answer her then,” Kirk suggested.

Uhura looked at him in surprise. “ _Me_ , Captain?”

Kirk shrugged. “You are leading this mission; it is your responsibility. I don’t want to interfere.”

“As you wish, sir,” Uhura said in a perfect imitation of Spock. Then she turned to the viewscreen. “We of the Federation have come to help you,” she said. “We’d like to go down to your planet and discuss an issue of utmost urgency with the leaders of your colony.”

She communicated with gestures that it was a very pressing and important issue indeed; something only the swarm-mothers could decide about. The Dairu lowered her head in acknowledgement; the light gleamed off the smooth black planes of her cranium, which was clearly chitinous, or at the very least something chitin-analog. 

Dr Mulhall and Dr Görg exchanged looks of well-concealed excitement. They could both hardly wait to examine one of these beautiful creatures from close proximity. Since Kaferia wasn’t a member of the Federation, few outsiders ever got the chance to study the Dairu.

“I shall inform our Queens,” the Dairu replied, underlining with gestures that she had understood how important and pressing the issue was. “In the meantime you can meet the representatives of our governor caste. They will expect you in ten of your standard minutes in the stone courtyard of the Great Hall. I would be honoured to transmit you the coordinates.”

“She signalled that we’ll be welcome by the governors in any case,” Uhura explained when the viewscreen went dark again, “regardless if the mothers are willing to meet us or not.”

“I’ve got the coordinates,” Liv Palmer reported. “Sending them to the transporter room, now.”

“Good,” Kirk looked at Uhura. “Do you have all the people you may need?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Well, what are you waiting for, then? Good luck, Commander; and keep us informed.”

“Certainly, Captain,” Uhura leaned over Palmer’s shoulder and spoke into the microphone. “Uhura to Landing Parties One and Two. Report to the transporter room immediately. We are beaming down to the planet in twenty minutes. Bridge out.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The refitted transporter system of the _Enterprise_ was the result of more than nine years of intensive research and development; the most powerful yet efficient such system currently in use on all Starfleet ships and facilities. Safe beaming range had been increased from sixteen thousand to nineteen thousand five hundred miles, with a greater object-mass/beaming-distance ration than in past models. All transport system machinery was now housed within the floor of the room. This design allowed for easy access when repair or adjustment was necessary, and freed up adjoining rooms for use as habitable or storage space. Aluminium grate flooring provided access to the transport platform and the control pod, in which the operator was safely shielded.

When Uhura stepped out of the turbolift cabin, heading for this very place, Lieutenant Decker joined her, running up from a different corridor.

“Are the landing parties ready?” he asked. “We shouldn’t make the Dairu wait!”

Uhura rolled her eyes and swallowed the first answer that occurred to her; it wouldn’t have been a friendly one. The puppy-like over-eagerness of the young executive officer was grating at her nerves sometimes.

“They are waiting for us in the staging area… _sir_ ,” she replied, pausing just long enough before giving the honorary title for the young man to notice the reprimand. “You can beam down whenever you want, of course.”

Decker did have his faults, but he was not stupid. Therefore the reprimand didn’t miss its target; the poor young officer became beet red from nerves and embarrassment.

“No, no, Commander,” he protested, swearing (not for the first time) that he would not be mislead by Uhura’s calm friendliness _ever_ again. “Captain Kirk said expressly that _you_ have the ultimate authority during this mission.”

“That is how I understood it, too,” Uhura returned coolly. “Which is why you will beam down with your group first. Agreed?”

“Aye-aye, sir… I mean, ma’am…”

Decker scurried away with his tail between his legs. Tigh looked after him with a certain amount of pity.

“Did you really have to be so hard on him, Heart of Flame?”

“He is so over-eager it drives me up the wall,” Uhura confessed. “Not even Chekov was this bad as a raw ensign. One has to put him in his place from time to time, or he’ll turn into a cheap copy of the captain; and one of _his_ kind is more than enough.”

Tigh, who didn’t like Kirk too much, had no argument against that, so they walked up to the antechamber of the transporter without a further word.

Through the floor-to-ceiling transparent aluminium panel that shielded the transporter operator from the effects of any cumulative radiations emitted by the new transporter machinery, they could see Decker and his four Andorian team members – as well as Yeoman Sherry Townsend, the lab technician assigned to their group – turn into scintillating energy. Lieutenant Kyle, the transporter chief, assured himself that the transfer was complete; then he turned back to Uhura, smiling.

“I’ll have to beam down both teams in two groups, Commander,” he said. “Unless you want to use the twenty-two-man emergency transporter.”

Uhura laughed. “That won’t be necessary, Mr Kyle. Send down the Vulcans first; they are immune against the heat as we all know. We, fragile human beings, can wait another minute or two.”

Kyle nodded and called T’Pel, T’Rada and T’Nira to the platform first. It featured six pads, which were numbered clockwise, beginning with the right front. Pad Number One was used when only one person was beamed down or to the ship. As the one with the highest rank (not to mention the oldest) Lieutenant T’Rada stepped onto that one, and the other two Vulcans followed. Dr Görg, who – as a native of Alpha Centauri VII – could ear heat almost as well, joined them, and so did Tosca Brevi, who wouldn’t have missed being in the first group for the world.

Uhura went to the staging area, where Dr Mulhall, Dr Kalomi and Lt Moreau were preparing for transport. Large double doors led from the staging room to the previously mentioned twenty-two-man transporter facility. This was reserved for emergency use, as when the crew had to abandon ship – or a large landing party had to be beamed out of a potentially lethal situation. Uhura hoped fervently that they would _not_ need it.

“Science tricorders are required,” she told Sealon, the Rigelian med-tech who was handing out equipment with the usual Vulcanoid efficiency. “The lab equipment is already in the cargo transporter and will be beamed down together with our tents,” then she turned to Lt Nored and Ensign Davidson, assigned to her team by Chekov. “Take the small Type One phasers. They may be a bit old-fashioned but can’t be recognized as weapons at first sight.”

“Do you expect problems, Commander?” The tall, pale, copper-haired Trish Davidson, who only ever lost her calm when facing stupidity, raised an eyebrow.

Uhura shrugged. “Not really. But these people are in a hopeless situation, and insectoid species are know to react irrationally to stress. Do you have your breathing masks and visors? Good. Let’s go then!”

They took their places on the transporter pods. The force-fields went up automatically to protect them from the secondary radiations of the new, more powerful system. Such radiations were negligible but could be harmful with prolonged exposure, and the designers didn’t want to take any risks.

Uhura checked her team one last time, gave Tigh an encouraging smile, and then looked at the transporter operator.

“Energizing, Mr Kyle!


	6. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Görg, Lieutenant Park, Lieutenant T’Rada, T’Nira and Tosca Brevi are original characters, loosely based on people I used to know.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
** CHAPTER 04 – FIRST IMPRESSIONS  
  
While working on her second degree, during which – among other things – she had also studied xenopsychology, Uhura had been given the rare chance of spending a couple of weeks on Kaferia, the Dairu homeworld. And though she had visited a great number of strange alien cultures since then, Kaferia remained for her the quintessence of alien beauty. She could never again forget the eight to nine hundred feet high steep buildings – very much like oversized termite colonies –, the gleaming, mirror-smooth surface of which also served as solar cells, and which were connected by graceful, hanging bridges, built from he carapaces of dead Dairu, kitted together by the thick, sticky saliva of Dairu workers. On the open air, this substance soon dried and became as hard as porcelain – just like the empty carapaces themselves.

Those towering habitats stood exclusively in the equatorial desert area of the planet. Mostly because the ancestors of the Dairu – like the termites on Earth – had been state-building insects originating from a hot and dry environment. Only that said ancestors – according to research – had been three-foot-long, monstrous insects; which was perhaps the reason why no vertebrates had ever developed on Kaferia. Like by many other insectoid species, the Dairu swarm-mothers could only procreate in the place where they had hatched; which pretty much determined the location of the habitat area.

Beyond that, the Dairu would have considered a criminal waste to build their towers on fertile soil. Only the research labs were tolerated in the fertile area: semi-transparent, trumpet-shaped buildings that only touched the ground on a very small spot and, extending at great heights like umbrellas, allowed the sunlight to filter through them to the plants below. Like the habitat towers, these, too, were connected by hanging and floating bridges.

In the first couple of years after her visit to Kaferia, Uhura frequently dreamed of these gleaming, grotesque formations, with their almost metallic lustre. Of the hanging bridges that turned in angles the human eye found odd. Of the amazing plantages, on which the Dairu produced never-before-seen botanic wonders… and of the incredibly difficult language, consisting of sound _and_ gestures. A language she might never have been able to learn correctly, had she not learned the human sign language, for the love of her cousin Epala, who had been born deaf.

Even years later, she always hoped that one day she might be able to return to this heartbreakingly beautiful, utterly alien world.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Compared with her memories of Kaferia, the view offered on the surface of Antar Beta II was quite the disappointment – even though they _had_ been thoroughly briefed about the conditions on the planet during the last team meeting.

As she materialized with the last group of the landing party, Uhura was glad for the precautions Dr M’Benga had insisted they all take to protect their eyes. Even with her polarized visor, which curved around the top half of her face, she found the ambient light too bright for comfort. The viewscreen of the _Enterprise_ , with its automatic compensating filters, had barely hinted at the intensity of the planet’s natural illumination.

Looking around to get her bearings, instead of the expected tall and steep habitat towers she found herself in a large, ancient-looking courtyard constructed of a material that looked very much like sandstone. The tall, frescoed walls, carved corner pillars and freestanding statuary made of the same material as the basic structure gave the place a feeling of vigour and enthusiasm – it had nothing in common with anything Uhura had ever seen of or heard about Dairu architecture.

In fact, the closes thing she’d ever seen was a series of holopictures taken at the excavations on Tagus III.

She shot a questioning look in T’Pel’s direction, who seemed less disturbed by this world’s blinding radiance. Of course, as their own sun was also very bright, Vulcans could deal with such radiance better than humans. Those secondary nicking membranes protecting the Vulcan eye probably came in handy in such environments.

“This place is too old to have been built by the Dairu colony,” the sociologist said without hesitation. “Besides, the architecture is completely alien. I shall make some records and compare them with the library computer of the _Enterprise_ ; there is a seventy-eight per cent possibility that similar founds are already recorded in our database. Certain ancient empires and planetary confederations were spread widely across the known galaxy.”

“This structure has nothing in common with anything I saw on Kaferia during my studies,” Uhura agreed. “Shall we make a closer approach?”

“That would be desirable,” T’Rada commented dryly. “Especially seeing that we are already expected.”

She discreetly nodded towards the focal point of the courtyard: a small pond of still water – a perfect square that reflected the vibrant blue-green sky overhead. The pool was framed by low sandstone benches, arranged in a U-form that was open in their direction. On the benches opposite them sat four motionless figures; their smooth, turquoise carapaces gleamed in the sunlight like the wings of fireflies.

“Governors,” Dr Mulhall decided after a first, fleeting glance. “The carapace of the warriors is black; that of the caretakers brown, that of the scientists indigo blue. The healers are supposed to be pale yellow, and the keepers of traditions white.”

“What about the mothers? “Chris Chapel asked.

Dr Mulhall shrugged. “No outsider has ever got to see a swarm-mother of the Dairu in the flesh. There are rumours that they all are of a deep amber colour.”

“All right,” Uhura said. “Let’s try to get an audience by the mothers. I assume you’re all familiar with the greeting rituals of the Dairu by now, but let’s just repeat it to be safe: stand in one line on my right, cross your arms in front of your chest and bow from the hip. Everything else leave to me for the time being; and that is not a suggestion but an order. Understood?”

The others nodded, clearly used to take orders from her. Only Tigh was mildly surprised, seeing a side of his calm, mild-mannered wife that he had not known before. Sure, back in Munguroo the eldest daughter of an Old Family had unquestioned authority; but _that_ authority came from her birth and position within the ancient cult. _This_ , however, was something Uhura had achieved on her own.

As if guessing his thoughts, she gave him a quick smile over her shoulder; then she headed towards the pool without any further dawdling.

The Dairu rose to greet them. Unlike the Ovions of Carillon, who still haunted Tigh’s nightmares – and frankly, unlike their own naked larvae – _these_ creatures were beautiful in their utterly alien way. What seemed like short tunics from the distance were, in truth, their own segmented carapaces, smooth and shiny like polished metal. Their heads looked like carnival masks, with narrow snouts and broad foreheads. They had large compound eyes with broad central facets, surrounded by smaller side facets, set on either side of their heads.

They carried themselves upright, using only their lowest pair of appendages for locomotion. The upper two pairs clearly served as arms; those had three joints each, unlike human arms, and ended in slim, three-fingered claw-hands that could have put precision tools to shame. Their legs, on the other hand, were short, sturdy and thick, with broad, sandal-like feet equipped with strong, curved claws, with which they could get excellent hold on the uneven floor.

The landing parties performed the greeting ceremony drilled into them by Uhura well in advance, and the Dairu returned the courtesy with the bizarre elegance of their kind.

“We greet you,” one of them then said. “I am Ser’frokk’trov’shhoiy, present-cycle leader of the Ruling Council. The Eldest Mother has already been informed about your arrival. Would you like to see more of our world while the Mothers make their decision?”

“That is very courteous of you, Present-Cycle Leader Ser’frokk’trov’shhoiy,” Uhura began, careful to pronounce the long and complicated name correctly, but the Dairu interrupted her with an apologetic gesture.

“You may simply call me Shhoiy; we understand that our full names are too complicated for outworldlers to remember.”

“It is very courteous of you, Present-Cycle Leader Shhoiy,” Uhura repeated, rephrasing the sentence ever so slightly. “However, we hoped to discuss the matter that has brought us here with the Mothers in person. It is of great importance for the survival of your colony; and we are running out of time.”

She emphasized the urgency and importance of their mission with the necessary gestures. For her part Shhoiy reassured them, also using the sign language, that the Dairu appreciated the weight of the issue.

“It is not our right to dictate – or even influence – the decisions the Mothers might make,” she then said. “We are aware of the danger threatening our world, though.”

“Then you should also know that a resettlement is your only chance to survive,” Dr Mulhall said.

“We have been given corresponding advice, yes,” strangely enough, the hands of the Dairu remained motionless, as if she wanted to conceal her true feelings about the matter. “However, we disapprove of the very concept.”

Dr Mulhall nodded in understanding. “I’m sure everybody would appreciate the sentiment,” she replied. “The facts, however…”

Shhoiy interrupted her with a bold, almost impatient gesture. “The Mothers haven’t decided yet.”

“And their decision is the only one that counts,” Uhura emphasized with gestures that she truly meant it. “Would you allow us to make certain preparations, though, just n case that the Mothers decide in favour of a resettlement?”

“We would also like to make a picture of the changes that have already taken place,” Dr Mulhall added, looking at Uhura to underline her words with gestures. “We’ve been ordered to do thorough chemical, biological and geophysical research; and we hope that your researchers could provide us with valuable insights about the local processes.”

"Is it your intention to spend a longer period of time on our world?” Shhoiy asked, reassuring Uhura through gestures that the Dairu had no objections whatsoever to their presence.

“Perhaps a couple of weeks if you allow it,” Uhura signalised that this was merely a polite request, which the Dairu could refuse without further explanation.

“Scientific exchange is of great value for us,” Shhoiy replied. “The workers will escort you to temporary quarters while we prepare a reception in the Great Hall.”

“That is really not necessary,” Uhura protested. 

However, the Dairu interrupted her with a polite yet determined gesture. “On the contrary. It is a rare honour that we would get visitors from outside of our world; and it is our custom to show our guests respect. The Guardians would be outraged if we failed to do so.

Uhura shot T’Pel a questioning look. The Vulcan sociologist answered with a tiny, barely perceivable nod.

“We shall honour your customs, of course; it wasn’t my intention to be impolite,” Uhura’s hands moved quickly and gracefully, like mahogany butterflies. “However, I must contact my ship first.”

“Naturally,” Shhoiy inclined her head, mimicking the human gesture. Despite their isolationist lifestyle, the Dairu of Antar Beta II clearly weren’t completely inexperienced when it came to the dealing with foreign species. “We all have our obligations. Once you’ve spoken with your own swarm, Ser’mioy’llar’breen will take you to the scientific colony. I shall see you at the reception again.

After having performed the ritual greetings again, the Dairu left – save for one of them, whose gleaming white carapace marked it as one of the Guardians.

“Call me simply Breen,” it offered brightly, its gestures emphasizing the meaning of its words. “I shall take you to a place here you can rest, while I explain you everything you’ll need to know.”

“What do you mean?” Decker asked with mild suspicion.

“A reception in the Great Hall is not an everyday event,” the Dairu replied helpfully. “One shouldn’t make any mistakes during a gathering like that.”

“She means: no offence against the etiquette,” Dr Mulhall suggested, smiling.

“ _He_ ,” Dr Görg corrected, consulting her tricorder. “If I can trust my readings here, Breen is male.”

The Dairu produced a dry, cackling noise, signalling its amusement.

“That is correct, honoured guests. Infertile males like me aren’t allowed entry into the inner sanctum; therefore we often work in the administrative area.”

“Into the _inner sanctum_?” Decker whispered to Dr Mulhall, a little confused.

“I assume she… I mean, _he_ is speaking about the birthing caves,” the astrobiologist replied in a low voice.

In the meantime Uhura had reported back to Kirk and she now turned to their guide. “I’ve spoken to my swarm-leader, Breen. We can go.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Breen hurried forward enthusiastically, heading for a U-shaped complex of buildings somewhere further behind the courtyard. Said buildings appeared to be made of clay (although this first impression soon proved to be false): bulbous constructions in earth brown, ochre and rusty red, which failed to make a pattern _or_ to blend into any general colour scheme. The low, bizarrely-shaped indigenous trees that framed the walkways had blue-green, leathery leaves that mirrored the harsh sunlight in an eye-wateringly bright lustre.

Despite its short legs, the Dairu moved on the hard-stomped dirt road with great speed; they had to make considerable effort to keep up with it. The tightly fitting Starfleet uniforms proved to be a serious disadvantage in this environment; Uhura shot envious glances in T’Pel and T’Nira’s direction, who were wearing the widely-cut, comfortable robes generally worn in Vulcan’s desert area, with a wide hood pulled deeply into their faces against the blinding sunlight.

“Being a civilian does have its advantages sometimes,” she muttered, suppressing a sigh.

Tigh, every bit as uncomfortable in his high-necked Colonial uniform, merely nodded in agreement and wiped the pearls of perspiration from above his upper lip with the sleeve of his tunic. None of the others wasted their breath on conversation.

The line of sparse trees broke in front of the central building, making room for a staircase of broad, flat steps that led straight to the ornate entrance of a structure with strong resemblance to the temples of Angkor Vat. At first the building seemed to lack windows completely. From closer proximity, however, one could spot the tall, narrow openings that looked more like lightning shafts than actual windows.

Passing through the entrance, Breen turned to the left and led them along a wide corridor with a low ceiling. After the almost painful radiance on the outside, it seemed barely lit, so that they had to remove their visors in order to find their bearings. Uhura noticed that Will Decker not only had to bend down to pass through the entrance, he also had to keep his neck pulled in, if he didn’t want to hit his head against the roughly plastered ceiling.

Unlike the ceiling and the side walls, the floor was covered with a brightly coloured mosaic, most likely composed of pieces of broken Dairu carapaces, and kept uneven, so that the clawed feet of the inhabitants had better footing. For humans, it was not the easiest surface to walk on, of course, but it had clearly not been made with any outsiders on the mind.

Some of the patterns were geometric, composed of sharply outlined circles and triangles of such bold, bright colours that Tigh was tempted to put his visor back on, despite the dim illumination. Other sequences depicted realistic scenes – from Dairu history or mythology, it was hard to tell without any foreknowledge.

The colonel stopped for a moment next to one of the tall, narrow windows. It seemed to him that both the wall and the stained glass were at least nine inches thick, and the latter was sealed to the stone hermetically. The glass plane was separated into smaller sections by decorative stone filigree that was a great deal more robust than it seemed. Tigh scanned the window with his Starfleet-issue tricorder and realised that the “glass” was actually transparent lead, making the window not only hermetically sealed but also radiation proof – a technology unknown to the Federation, as far as he knew.

Of course, he was no scientists, so he might just be ignorant; but he didn’t think so. Apparently, the Dairu were more prepared for what was about to come than Starfleet – or the Federation in general – gave them credit for.

He realised that the others had gone quite the distance in front of him already, so he hurried up to catch up with them. Uhura didn’t comment about his tardiness; he was focusing on secretly recording their route with her tricorder. If the leader of a landing party got lost, that could lad to the death of the entire team, and Uhura didn’t want to get into a situation like that. While she could count on both Decker and the security officers to make records as well, she wanted to be able to find out of this labyrinthine building on her own if she had to.

After some speedy meandering and brisk walking – which, by Uhura’s estimate, led them to the third level of the building – Breen stopped in front of an ornate door. Two other Dairu joined them, coming from one of the side corridors. Their ebony carapaces marked them as security (or, at the least, as members of the Honour Guard), although they didn’t carry any weapons. 

None that could have been recognised by humans as such, that is.

They bowed stiffly from the hip to Uhura; then one of the opened the door simply by drawing a complicated geometric figure in the air, using all four of its upper arms. It was the simplest security measure possible – not even Uhura could have opened the door, due to the fact that she only possessed two of the necessary limbs.

“There are refreshments within; and a room for you to rest, Commander,” Breen inclined his head in lieu of a bow. “The Honour Guard will wait outside, in case you might need anything else. I shall return in thirty of your standard minutes… unless you have an alternate suggestion,” he added with a questioning gesture that also signalled that he would be open to any such suggestions.

Uhura bowed lightly and formed a pyramid with her hands: the Dairu sign of agreement.

“Your arrangements are more than adequate, Breen,” she replied.

“In that case I shall return at the appointed time,” the small white Dairu assured them with fluttering hands; then he bowed deeply and backed off the room.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
As soon as the door closed behind him, Decker and the security officers wiped out their tricorders and started scanning the room, inch by inch. Like the corridors, the walls in here were roughly plastered; in a pale beige colour near the door, darkening gradually to ochre as they progressed towards the small windows. The colour schemata gave the room a light and airy look, despite the size of the windows and the low ceiling. Breathing seemed easier in here, and the temperature was more fitting for humans.

The room was barely furnished, save for a long, low table and high-backed, stuffed chairs that – like the table – had their surface barely a foot and a half above the floor. That was ideal for the short-legged Dairu and the similarly built Andorians; humans, however, had a hard time to find a comfortable position. This was one of the rare times when Uhura was glad to be short; at least she didn’t look as ridiculous as Will Decker or Trish Davison, who didn’t seem to know what to do with their long limbs.

The practical-minded (and equally lanky) Vulcans simply kneeled down on the floor next to the table and sat back on their heels. All that meditating, performed in the same position, came in handy, apparently.

Upon said table stood a stack of plates with a bunch of exotic-looking eating utensils with _very_ vague resemblance of forks and knives, as well as several baskets of metal mesh, holding various sorts of bulbous, scaled fruits. Some of them were yellow, the majority different shades of red.

Dr Görg scanned with her tricorder first the yellow fruit, then the red ones. She even cut one of each in half, revealing the spongy fruit flesh under the exceptionally thick peel; sometimes it was red, but more often white, and each fruit full of small, black seeds.

The instrument hummed for a long time until it finally produced some readings on its small screen; and _those_ made Dr Görg frown. She beckoned to Nurse Sealon, asking her to make her own analysis. The Rigelian did as she was asked – and she frowned, too.

“I’m getting the same results, Doctor. These _are_ Kaferian apples, despite their appearance.”

“That can’t be!” Uhura said in surprise. “Kaferian apples are pear-shaped, smooth-skinned fruits with yellow and green stripes.”

“And yet the readings are clear,” Sealon replied. “The molecular structure of a fruit does not lie, no matter what it looks on the outside.”

“Perhaps a genetically altered version,” Dr Görg suggested.

“They look more like pitahayas,” Uhura commented; then she added, for Tigh’s sake. “And Earth fruit, originally from the south-eastern regions, also known as dragonfruit. Although I’ve never seen pitahayas with such extremely thick peel. Seems like a waste to me to develop a variation like this.”

“There’s more to the peel than just the thickness,” Dr Mulhall said with a frown of her own. “The upper layer of it contains a high percentage of lead. I won’t recommend eating them, unless we peel them down to the fruit flesh.”

“Perhaps we should do exactly that, Doctor,” Uhura said. “We don’t want to insult our hosts by refusing their hospitality.”

“There’s a washroom by that door,” Leila Kalomi waved in the direction right from the entrance. “Why don’t you freshen up a bit while we prepare the food? You’ll need to be at your best at the reception. You’re a boss, after all.”

Uhura found that an excellent idea. The water in the little washroom wasn’t very cold – in truth it was tepid at best – but she still felt reborn after a quick wash.

“Any comments?” she asked upon returning to the others.

“There are no obvious listening devices,” Decker reported. “However, due to the special acoustics of this room the ventilation ducts _could_ reflect our words to a detector that does not register on our tricorders.”

Xon raised an appreciative eyebrow – however, the appreciation was for the unknown architects of the building, not for Decker’s discovery.

“I assume you are suggesting that we act as if we were being monitored, correct?”

“I’m fairly sure that we _are_ being monitored,” Decker replied. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have brought us here on this long and complicated route. This building is practically a fortress. The walls are very thick and made of solid rock, appearances notwithstanding.”

“The windows are hermetically sealed and radiation proof,” Tigh added. “The stone filigree is more than just decoration. The structure is reinforced with titanium and anchored deeply in the rock wall.”

“How reassuring to know,” Lieutenant Anne Nored muttered. “Is this defensive architecture something new or generally characteristic for the Dairu?”

“That is hard to tell without further data,” T’Pel replied. “As a rule all insectoid cultures we know are very traditional and protect their cultural heritage quite jealously for centuries – unless a strong enough outside influence forces them to seek out new ways.”

“Generally speaking that is true,” Uhura added thoughtfully- “However, this entire complex is very different from the airy, almost organic architecture that I’ve seen all over Kaferia. What do you think the reason could be?”

“I believe that _this_ is the older, the original Dairu architecture,” the Vulcan sociologist answered, choosing her words carefully. “If we assume that this particular swarm – that was apparently opposed to the reforms on Kaferia – chose to migrate for spiritual reasons, it would be logical to presume that they kept the cultural patterns of pre-reformation times unchanged. The Guardians of Tradition seem to have a much greater influence than on the Dairu homeworld where they usually carry out functions that would be merely of cultural importance. It is also meaningful that these Dairu do not wear artificial clothing. Instead, they have re-grown the old, hauberk-like exoskeletons that can only be found as rudimentary thorax plates by other swarms.”

“I thought genetic manipulation on their own kind was forbidden,” Decker commented in surprise.

Dr Görg nodded. “That is true; in fact, that is the only crime still calling for capital punishment on Kaferia. In such minor cases, however, no actual manipulation is necessary. The Dairu are capable of spontaneously adapting to their environment within a single generation. This particular swarm has already gone through the adaptation procedure three times. It’s not surprising that a much more robust subspecies came out of it; one that is more immune to the environmental conditions.”

Decker scratched his head. “In other words: we have to learn a great deal more before we could even hope to carry out our mission successfully.”

“Afraid so, Lieutenant,” Dr Görg replied with an apologetic smile. “It is near impossible to form a working theory about a largely unknown conservative society. As all other insectoid cultures known to us are fairly conservative,” she added with a discreet nod in the direction of the quietly listening Andorians, “we can assume the same about the local Dairu, too, as the basis for our interaction with them – until we find any hard proof for the opposite.”

“What’s more, we have to keep in mind that insectoid behaviour is in general very formal and consist of a great deal of ritual elements; especially when dealing with outsiders,” Uhura supplied. “Keep your eyes and ears open. The more we learn about this particular swarm, the greater the chance to carry out our mission.”

“Make notes if you have to,” Dr Görg added. “Even small things count. We’ll compare what we learn here with what little we know about the Dairu in general; the differences, if there are any, could prove very useful.”


	7. Rituals and Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Görg, Lieutenant Park, Lieutenant T’Rada, T’Nira and Tosca Brevi are original characters, loosely based on people I used to know.  
> This part originally belonged to the previous chapter, but I found it had got to long and decided to break it in two.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

**CHAPTER 05 – RITUALS AND NEGOTIATIONS**

They spent the rest of their break with sampling the various sorts of strange-looking Kaferian apples that – to Tigh’s surprise – turned out to be the tastiest fruits he had ever eaten: sweet, and spicy and refreshing at the same time. The yellow ones in particular were wonderfully tart and juicy, and by the time he had sampled each sort, he needed to wash his face and hands again – the juice was surprisingly sticky, even for sweet fruits.

He was barely done when somebody rapped on the door. The richly carved wings swung outwards and in trotted Breen, his claws clicking on the mosaic-paved floor in a quick rhythm. He was already gesticulating excitedly.

“I greet you again, honoured guests,” his good mood seemed irrepressible; if she wanted to be honest, Uhura found it a bit tiring to be around someone who was _always_ so happy and excited – or, at least, _appeared_ to be. “If you are ready, I shall introduce you to the ways of our swarm. Is there any specific information you require before I take you to the Great Hall?”

Uhura returned his bow. 

“We thank you, Ser’mioy’llar’breen,“ she replied, more formally this time, and she signalised beyond doubt their willingness to respect Dairu customs. “Since we are new to your world, we would be honoured if you would tell us exactly what to expect and how we should respond.”

If possible, Breen became even more excited over the prospect; all four of his hands fluttered as if an invisible wind would move his long, finely segmented fingers. 

“Certainly, honoured guests, most certainly. That is my function as protocol officer: to instruct you in that which is needful.”

With that, he simply sat down with them – apparently, personal interaction was _not_ overregulated by protocol – and in the following hour he explained them, in exhausting detail, the ritual exchange of greetings and how the negotiations were supposed to proceed afterwards.

About one-third into the procedure Tigh gave up the fruitless effort to keep up with the instructions. He could only hope that the Starfleet Personnel had more luck. One could assume that at least the Vulcans would be able to keep all the details in their heads. He would simply watch them and mimic their behaviour, he decided.

When Breen finally finished his instructions, the gleaming black Honour Guards escorted them to the Great Hall – on an even more convulted course than the one that led them to the guest room. First the corridors swung upwards and twisted into the interior of the building. At one point they passed through a breath-taking gallery near the highest point of the entire structure; through the tall, narrow light shaft they could look down at the ancient, sandstone courtyard where they had first set foot on this strange, alien world.

That, at least gave them a sense of orientation. Theoretically, one _could_ have escaped from here with one of those jet-packs that had become so popular among the mountaineer Search and Rescue teams lately. Only that they didn’t _have_ such jet-packs with them, of course; and not even Ensign Lamia could have forced her slim body through one of those narrow shafts.

From the upper gallery the corridor took a sharp turn inwards – and then it suddenly ended in front of an intricately carved, massive black door. The ornate carvings practically covered every square inch of the heavy wooden wings. Some sections were engraved with symbols; writing perhaps, that no-one but T’Rada could make sense of – or not even her. Other panels were pictorial – mostly hieratic battle scenes that reminded of the stone reliefs celebrating the triumphs of Egyptian pharaohs in the ruins of Karnak – or, in Tigh’s case, of the standing stones that guarded the Tombs of Kobol.

At Uhura’s signal the Vulcan linguist stepped forward with her tricorder and swept it across the carvings, recording them for later analysis. Compared with the spare details archived in the databases of Memory Alpha about Dairu creation myths and history, those readings might tell them valuable details about this strange alien society.

The two large black Honour Guards opened the heavy door – this time manually and apparently with considerable effort – and the landing party was allowed into a cavernous room – paved with brilliantly coloured geometric mosaics – that most likely occupied the entire upmost level of the building. The unexpectedly high, vaulted room, whose ceiling was lost in the shadows, was dimly lit with flickering torches, giving it a timeless, barbaric pomp, which stood at odds with the otherwise sophisticated Dairu technology displayed everywhere else.

Uhura was certain that the effect was deliberate. The ancestors of the Dairu used to dwell in subterranean caves; and this room, with its seemingly surreal measures due to the dim illumination, called up the same impression such a cave must have made for its primitive dwellers.

The process of strolling along between the double row of Dairu, greeting the ranking representatives of each caste the way they were supposed to according to Dairu etiquette, seemed endless. Also, the deeper they went into the room, the warmer it was getting. Uhura felt the drops of perspiration collect on her brow and roll down slowly on the back of her neck, along her spine. 

From the hard concentration to perform each (for humans fairly mindless) greeting ritual, she soon felt the beginnings of a tension headache throbbing between her eyes, and for a moment she seriously asked herself why on Earth had she accepted this mission in the first place. Her sense of self-worth did not need the reassurance that she was able to perform diplomatic functions. Besides, she could have done that on Tigh’s side; or _if_ she had accepted Commodore Stone’s offer of a counselling position on Starbase 13. She decided against a diplomatic career for a very good reason.

But if she wanted to be honest with herself, she had to admit that it had been the challenge that made her accept this mission; the fact that no-one else could manage the complex sign language of the Dairu as well as she.

That, and the equally important fact that Admiral zh’Nhauris was not the person (or bug) who would accept _no_ for an answer.

After a seemingly endless amount of walking and bowing and performing the proper greeting gestures, they finally reached the dais on the far end of the Great Hall, where the members of Antar Beta II’s Ruling Council were sitting on their richly carved, high-backed seats. Shhoiy rose to guest them, descending the three broad, flat steps like an enormous, glittering firefly.

“We, the Ruling council of the swarm Ser, welcome you in the Great Hall,” she said in her multitonal voice; and though she spoke in Standard, the wrist communicators of the landing party started humming as the automatic translator function switched on. 

Clearly, the small instruments had some difficulty with the fact that a single person seemed to speak in multiple voices.

The antennae of the Andorians began to tremble; for Uhura a sure sign that the feedback was even more uncomfortable in the higher frequencies, inaudible for human ears.

“Switch off your comms,” she suggested. “I’ll have my people filter out the side effects later.”

Then she turned back to Shhoiy and made the most polite greeting gesture. “You honour us with this reception, Ruling Council of the swarm Ser. Let us hope that this will be the beginning of a cooperation that can serve the interests of your esteemed swarm.”

“That is a hope we share with you,” Shhoiy replied in a surprisingly unceremonious manner. “Although we might see the interests of our swarm in a different light. Nonetheless, we would be honoured if you could introduce your colleagues to the Council.”

Uhura did as he was asked, careful of the required formalities. The landing parties being unusually large, this took some time, and in the end she came close to pass out from the heat and the lack of air. The Hall _was_ great, but it was also crowded.

“Your willingness to respect our customs honours us,” Shhoiy, who obviously noticed their increasing discomfort, said after she was done. “I suggest that we relocate to the Lesser Council Chamber. My fellow councillors will join us there.”

Her gestures reassured Uhura of that which was unspoken in words: that they would be more comfortable there. Then, without a further word, she stepped off the dais and hurried to a side door; the two ebony Honour Guards barely having the time to open it for her. Uhura and the two landing parties followed in relief.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The chamber to which they were led, while not exactly small either, seemed almost homely compared with the Great Hall. It had abstractly patterned wall hangings in blue and green, and a bright ceramic mosaic floor with identical patterns as the hangings. A large oval table, made of black, polished wood, occupied the middle of the room, surrounded by the usual high-backed chairs.

The Honour Guards closed the doors behind them; the heavy wooden wings made a sound like a distant drum. As if on clue, another five Dairu stepped forth from side entrances hidden behind the wall hangings. Even without physical contact, Xon could feel the nervous anxiety of his human shipmates increase, although they did an impressive job to hide their unease – for humans anyway.

Shhoiy inclined her head in the direction of each new arrival, the flat facets of her compound eyes changing colour as her head moved. Then she turned back to Uhura, whom she had identified at first sight as the leader of the visitors, saying, “Esteemed Commander Uhura, may I introduce the Elders of the swarm Ser?”

Following her words, the five Dairu lined up next to her, bowing deeply from the waist to the _Enterprise_ -team. Then Shhoiy raised her upper left arm, signalling an order not even Uhura could interpret. At the sign one of the Dairu – an unusually large, ebony individual – stepped forward and crossed all four arms in front of its thorax as a sign of respect.

“This is Ser’hath’trov’dab,” the supreme leader of our Honour Guards,” Shhoiy explained, and the black Dairu, whose office roughly equalled that of a minister of defence, stepped back in the row of its colleagues after a polite greeting.

Shhoiy introduced the others, too, one after another. Ser’mioy’trov’lan, the head Guardian of Traditions (some kind of Dairu high priest, apparently), was small and seemingly fragile, its once snow white carapace dull and a bit yellowed. Head Researcher Ser’breth’trov’zarn, on the other hand, was young and agile, with a carapace of the deepest, shiniest indigo blue the Enterprise officers had seen so far.

The next one, Ser’nuar’trov’laiy, was the local equivalent of a Minister of Healthcare: a calm, middle-aged and middle-sized individual with a carapace of pale gold. The caste she belonged to was called the Nurturers. And finally the last one, Ser’nuem’trov’lar – another elderly Dairu – was the leader of the Caretaker caste – in human terms, the Minister of Education.

When the introductions were done – with all the endless ritual greetings, bows and polite gestures Dairu etiquette clearly required – Shhoiy appeared relieved and gestured towards the conference table invitingly.

“Now that we’ve brought the formalities behind us, perhaps we can discuss practical things,” she said, not without some irony in her voice.

“The greeting rituals are part of our most sacred traditions,” Ser’mioy’trov’lan, the old Head Guardian said disapprovingly. “Besides, they are very useful to show our people that our visitors are beyond doubt sentient beings.”

“Of course, esteemed Guardian,” Shhoiy replied politely; her hands, however, remained strangely motionless, as if she wanted to keep her true opinion to herself. As soon as she turned back to the visitors her manners became easier again, though; rather civil, in fact. “Please, take a seat, honoured guests, and let us talk about practical things. You have voiced your wish to learn more about our world and to take certain… scientific readings, am I correct?”

“That is right,” Uhura assured her with gestures that this was merely a request. “If you have no objections, that is.”

“None at all,” Shhoiy replied. “I believe it would be best if we had you escorted to the scientific colony in the morning, then. There you can put together a schedule with our scientists,” she signalled that this was just an offer, not a demand. “Shall we assign permanent quarters to you for the length of your visit?”

“If it is all right with you, we’d rather put up our tents in the outside,” Uhura answered apologetically. “That is standard procedure for landing parties. I hope we’re not violating any local taboo with this request.”

“Of course not,” Shhoiy assured her. “We all have our rules and traditions that we have to follow. Where do you want to establish your camp?”

Uhura gave the others a questioning look. “Any suggestions?”

“Could we perhaps camp somewhere near the stone courtyard?” T’Pel asked. “I would like to take a closer look at those carvings in my spare time; to compare the motifs with the archaeological databases.”

Uhura shrugged. “It’s fine with me; assuming our hosts have no objections.”

“Not at all,” Shhoiy replied. “The structure is not our work and we have no real use for it. You are welcome to nest there if the place is to your liking. Do you need anything? Provisions? Equipment?”

“No, thanks,” Uhura made the proper gesture of gratitude. “We’ll get everything we need from our ship. In fact, the equipment is already packed and waiting to be beamed down.”

“In that case we may respectfully remove ourselves now,” Shhoiy’s gestures revealed that the phrase was not meant ironically. “Sher’moiy’llar’breen will escort you to your chosen destination; and tomorrow in the early morning he’ll fetch you and take you to our scientific colony. We all wish you a useful stay on our world.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
With that, the Dairu elders performed another long and complicated ritual – this time one of farewell – and left the room through the side doors. Will Decker too a deep breath and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform tunic.

“Geez!” he said with feeling. “Three and a half hours of mindless rituals, only to discuss everything of true importance in five minutes – I’ll never understand bugs!”

“You shouldn’t say such things within the earshot of Admiral zh’Nhauris,” Uhura warned, relieved by the thought that they’d be able to leave this depressing labyrinth, soon. “She’s very proud of her heritage – and doesn’t react well to bug jokes.”

For a moment, there was silence as everyone imagined the much-respected, matron-like leader of Starfleet Sciences getting into the typical Andorian rage. Then they forcibly pushed the disrespectful thought out of their minds, knowing now that Ensign Lamia was actually related to her. Even though they weren’t in speaking terms at the moment, Andorians were generally _very_ concerned with family honour.

In the next moment the door opened again and Breen jogged in enthusiastically.

“Follow me!” he called out to them, his hands fluttering like butterflies. “I shall lead you back to the courtyard. You have six of your standard hours left until sunset. That is not much time for all the work you still have to do.”

After Breen had brought them back to the ancient stone courtyard where they had originally beamed down and took his leave from them – at least until the next morning – Uhura took Decker to the side.

“Call the _Enterprise_ , Will. Ask Chief Wong to have our equipment beamed down at once; and ask her for a few additional things, too. I want a portable food-synthesizer and a computer with extra data modules, as well as additional power cells. You should also request at least two more security guards.”

It was a bit unusual for a communications expert to give orders to the first officer (even if she technically outranked him); but that wasn’t the reason why Will Decker looked at Uhura in surprise.

“Do you believe the Dairu are up to something?”

“I don’t know,” Uhura replied thoughtfully. “But something _is_ fishy here. Granted, I don’t know _what_ it is, but it makes me nervous.”

“The Guardians and the Governors are not of one mind,” T’Pol was standing at some distance, yet with her acute Vulcan hearing understood every word nonetheless. “There is a definite break within the Ruling council. Perhaps they have opposite opinions about the relocation and each side tries to influence the Queens.”

“I believe we can safely assume that the Governors are against a relocation, based on our very first encounter with Present-Cycle Leader Ser’frokk’trov’shhoiy,” Xon said, joining them. “In which case it is logical to assume that the Guardians would be more open for the idea; and perhaps they are planning to use our presence to win the upper hand in the debacle.”

“And in _that_ case we have to take the regulations of the Prime Directive under consideration,” Decker added with a grim face. “We can’t support one side of the government against the other one; especially not on a world that isn’t even a member of the Federation.”

Uhura sighed. “Everything is possible at this moment; we can’t base our actions on guesswork. I hope we’ll be able to learn more tomorrow. Let’s set up camp now, so that we may enjoy the blessings of Federation technology – at least during nighttime.”

Will Decker contacted the _Enterprise_ and soon the deep, powerful humming of the cargo transporter could be heard a bit further away from the ancient sandstone courtyard. On the glittering sand a huge pile of accurately packed equipment materialized. At first sight it seemed enough for an independent expedition; but again, they were planning to stay on Antar Beta II for weeks and to do scientific work, so they did need a lot of stuff for that.

Soon thereafter the personal transporters were activated, too, and two experiences security officers followed the cargo: Ensign Ibsen, a big, heavy-set, ash-blond Dane and Ensign Kelley, a stocky, red-curled Irishman. They usually worked as a unit and were known as quick, efficient and level-headed. Chekov clearly was not taking chances by choosing the people he assigned to this mission.

“This place isn’t suited for building up the tents,” Uhura said, taking a closer look at her surroundings. “The pegs wouldn’t hold in the sand. Let’s try under those trees over there.”

The indigenous trees grew in hard clay soil, approximately two hundred metres from the courtyard, but such short distances would never hold back a Vulcan, hungry for more knowledge. Decker had the cargo transporter move the equipment closer to the chosen campsite, and the two landing parties started building the camp, quickly and efficiently.

They’d been so thoroughly trained in these things that they could have done it in their sleep.

With the help of the technicians they put together the temporary lab first, from the ready-made elements- This building had only one room, designed to protect sensitive equipment from the weather; its open veranda, however, could be used as the mess hall. After Sayra Hummel and the Andorian Thule had placed the mobile power cells and booted up the instruments, Dr Mulhall, Lieutenant Moreau and Yeoman Townsend could begin with the unpacking of the lab equipment, which cost them the rest of the day.

The others worked on putting up the tents – not a really complicated task for twenty-third century technology. One simply placed the surprisingly small bag on the floor and pushed the activating button… then backed off a few steps, so that the tent could unfold automatically. The superlight metallic framework stretched quickly, like the segmented limbs of an awakening insect; the unbreakable pegs burrowed deeply into the tough clay, and the double duraflax canvas blew up within seconds into a large dome. All that remained to do was to slide the power cells into their holders next to the entrance and regulate the inner temperature to a level that was comfortable for humans.

“Program a neutral colour for the tents, so that they would blend in with their surroundings,” Uhura instructed the camp-builders. “We don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention, do we?”

The builders nodded and did as they had been told. When everything was done, they had supper on the veranda and Uhura assigned the people to the individual tents. She chose Dr Mulhall, Leila Kalomi and Lieutenant Moreau as her cohabitants, while Xon – according to Kirk’s orders – returned to the ship for the night.

“Well then, good night, everyone,” Uhura said. “Should there be any problems, turn to Lieutenant Decker. Don’t wake me, unless Antar Alpha decides to explode earlier than expected. At my age one needs some proper beauty sleep. Our shift begins at 08.00 hours as usual; you’ve all been promoted to Alpha Shift for the length of this mission.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The others laughed and everyone left for their own business. Some went to sleep at once. Others (meaning the Vulcans) moved away a bit from the camp to meditate undisturbed under the open sky. Others again remained on the veranda, talking in low voices so that they wouldn’t disturb the rest of those who slept, evaluating the events of the previous day.

The lanky, red-haired Trish Davison, assigned to first watch by Decker, circled the camp with slow, soundless steps. Her hand was resting on her power. She had served under a number of security chiefs during the Enterprise’s previous five-year-mission; she had learned that if she wanted to survive in her job, she needed to remain alert all the time.

This night, however, promised to be quiet. There wasn’t any nose, nearby or further away. There wasn’t the slightest breeze; and since there were no insects on Antar Beta II (save for the Dairu and their domestic animals, that is), even the usual night sounds of a living planet were absent.

How odd, Davison thought, that there would be no indigenous fauna on this world; only such as the Dairu had brought with them.

Despite her cautious alertness, she nearly stumbled over someone who was sitting half hidden by a tent, motionless like a piece of rock.

“Colonel Tigh!” she whispered in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I am trying to be watchful,” Tigh answered in a low voice. “My instincts tell me this world isn’t quite as peaceful as one tries to make us believe; so I’m doing my best to protect my wife.”

Davison looked up thoughtfully at the breath-takingly beautiful night sky. Antar Beta I, an emerald-and-white marbled, ringed gas giant, had already risen above the curve of the horizon to two-thirds. Through the veil of its emerald green rings one could see a third stellar body: a much smaller one, veined in dark blue and white. The view was beyond description. Trish had been to many beautiful places during her eight duty years at Starfleet, but none of them came even close. She found it hard to believe that anything bad could happen in a place like this.

“You can’t stay up all night,” she said gently.

“Yes, I can; and I will,” Tigh replied. “During the day, when everyone is up, I’m not needed. I can catch up with my sleep if I have to. But that would be hardly necessary; I’m used to live on very little sleep.”

Since the stubborn determination of the colonel had already become legendary – and besides, she couldn’t really order the representative of an allied power to sleep, could she? – Davison simply nodded, wished him a peaceful watch and went on with her duty.


	8. A Visit to Bug Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Görg, Lieutenant Park, Lieutenant T’Rada, T’Nira and Tosca Brevi are original characters, loosely based on people I used to know.   
> Escobar is semi-canon and “played” by a young Erik Estrada.   
> The layout of the _Enterprise_ follows the excellent background book “Mr Scott’s Guide to the _Enterprise_ ” by Shane Johnson.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
A VISIT TO BUG TOWN  
**  
Like most Vulcans, Lieutenant Xon was an early riser – meaning that not only was he showered, dressed and done with breakfast an hour before the beginning of Alpha Shift; he had also performed his early two-hour meditation and appeared in the transporter room physically fit and mentally refreshed. This time he was wearing civilian garb: loose-fitting trousers and a wide-cut, hooded jacket in Vulcan fashion that fit the climate of Antar Beta II much better than the regular Starfleet uniform.

“I shall return to the planet, Mr Escobar,” he told the handsome Mexican transporter technician. “Please beam me directly into our camp.”

Escobar glanced at his control screen. Seeing Janice Rand’s message that the Vulcan was free to return to the planet’s surface without express orders from their commanding officer, he nodded politely.

“Aye, sir. Will you need additional equipment?”

“Not at the moment,” Xon replied. “Please inform Chief Wong that we might require more later, though. She should keep things ready; I have left her a list.”

“As you wish, sir,” Escobar sent the request to Chief Wong’s terminal; then he waited until Xon stepped onto the platform before sliding his palm over the touch-controls. “Energizing.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Xon materialized some ten metres from the camp. As it was 07.00 hours, according to board time, Antar Beta had already risen high above the horizon. The secondary, translucent nicking membranes of the Vulcan closed automatically to protect his eyes from the brightness as he was heading for the trees that shadowed their camp.

His colleagues were already up, of course. On this extremely hot world one had to put the early morning hours to good use. A few of them were still drinking their morning coffee on the open veranda; others were checking the temporal lab, preparing it for the correlation of the expected data. The Vulcans had just returned from their solitary meditation, while the security officers were performing their usual tai chi exercises, led by Decker who had got interested in such things due to Sulu’s influence.

To Xon’s mild surprise Breen was already there, watching the early morning activities with great interest.

“This is an intriguing discipline,” he commented when the tai chi exercises were finished and Decker joined him and Uhura. “It seems to require a great deal of self-control.”

“That is correct,” Decker wiped his face with the towel thrown around his neck. “Tai chi training involves five elements: _taolu_ , meaning solo hand and weapons forms; _neigong_ and _quigong_ , which are breathing, movement and awareness exercises and meditation, _tuishou_ , meaning response drills, and _sanshou_ , which are self defence techniques. Originally, it was known for its slow movements, but most modern styles have secondary forms with faster paces. We prefer those in our training, as security officers – our very own Honour Guard – need to learn how to react fast and focussed.”

“Interesting,” the Dairu said. “Perhaps you would be interested in taking a look at the exercises of our Honour Guard? They have a similar philosophical approach. Perhaps we are a lot more alike than our people would have thought.”

Decker looked at Uhura askance; she shook her head discreetly and took over the conversation.

“Another time perhaps. For today we have come to an agreement with Present-Cycle Governor Ser’frokk’trov’shhoiy about visiting your scientific colony, where we are supposed to make plans for our further stay on your world.”

“Right,” as always, Breen underlined his words with excited gestures. “The leader of the scientific colony, the most esteemed Ser’breth’llar’throb, has already been informed and is expecting you at her workplace, the geophysics lab.”

“I assume we won’t have to go far,” Uhura said. “It is tradition for the scientific settlements of the Dairu to be built in the desert area, so that no fertile soil would be wasted.”

Breen made that dry, cackling sound they had already learned to identify as laughter.

“You are right, of course,” he said. “The entrance of the scientific colony is…” he made some quick calculations in his head, “about three hundred metres from here, by your measures, right there in front of those white sand dunes. The way is only marked by scent marks; you should stay directly behind me, or you could get lost.”

Decker left Ibsen and Kelly behind to guard the camp. The two ensigns clearly didn’t mind the least that they would miss the desert march under the already brightly burning sun. Yeoman Sherri Townsend also stayed behind in the temporary lab to correlate the data coming in from her colleagues. The others paired up and followed the Dairu who had already begun crossing the uniform-looking desert with practiced ease.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Despite the relative shortness of the way, the march proved exhausting and, once again, Uhura found the look of the scientific colony disappointing. There was no sign of the gravity-defying architecture so characteristic for Kaferia’s fertile zone; nor of the towering habitats of the desert area. This entire world, while still in full bloom – or what _counted_ as full bloom here – already seemed oddly abandoned.

In front of the huge, bizarrely shaped white sand dunes, which marked the border of the true desert, a number of square, asymmetrical white towers raged upward. They looked like building blocks for giant children; one side of each slab was cut back diagonally to the middle. The Enterprise officers only got an impression of the enormous size of the towers when they were standing directly in front of them.

“These are our sensor stations, which collect all sorts of environmental data and transfer them to the labs,” Breen explained happily. “At the same time they also serve as entrances to the actual colony. The diagonal surfaces are meant to redirect the desert winds.”

“The tower is lined with numerous layers of lead,” Xon said, consulting his tricorder, “that come together to a total thickness of three point six five metres. Under the tower I read a five-hundred-metre thick layer of solid rock.”

“But the surface layer under the desert sand is exceptionally hard!” Lieutenant Moreau said, clearly shocked. “It must have taken years to drill through so much granite!”

“It took us about eighteen of your standard years,” Breen told them matter-of-factly; he expressed through gestures that the results were more than worth the effort. Unfortunately, that addition as lost on the _Enterprise_ ’s geophysicist who wasn’t familiar with the sign language. “I shall entrust you to our scientist now and see you again tomorrow.”

“Wait a minute!” Uhura stopped him. “How are we supposed to get into the town?”

“Why, through the automatic entrance system, of course,” Breen showed her a platform that could have been an extension of the towers but apparently was not. “Step up there – always two at a time – and it will take you directly down to the distribution centre.”

At first sight the platform merely appeared to be a flat piece of quartz. As soon as Uhura and Tigh stepped onto it, though, it turned around, together with the piece of wall behind it, abruptly sank with them at least two hundred metres in a vertical chute, and then they found themselves in the middle of a small, hexagonal room, from which corridors led to six different directions.

“A traffic knot!” Tigh realised as they stepped off the platform, so that the others could follow them. “These tunnels must be leading to the various sections of the colony proper.”

“That is correct,” said the deep indigo blue Dairu operating the complicated control panel; then it pointed with its upper left hand at the second corridor on their left. “Take that archways and mind your balance; the escalators are quite fast.”

 _That_ announcement turned out to be the understatement of the century. The tunnel was so narrow that they could barely stand upright, and the escalator ran downwards with nauseating speed. By the time they reached the three hundred metres deeper laying settlement, even the Vulcans were showing subtle signs of sickness. What worried Tigh more, though, was the fact that through the ungodly amount of rock and the thick layers of lead it was impossible to establish contact with the _Enterprise_.

The subterranean settlement itself, though, had nothing in common with the horrible breeding tunnels of the Ovions. It seemed wide and airy, despite the low ceilings; the enormous mass of rock above was kept from caving in by antigravity platforms run on geothermic energy that the planet had in spades. The broad streets were paved with white stone and framed by cisterns and bizarrely shaped buildings on one side. On the other side, the low walls were covered with huge viewscreens. Some of those showed real time events going on outside the settlement, while others clearly served the education of very young larvae. Those were sitting in multiple rows in front of the screens, watching educational videos. The respective levels were connected by escalators and moving walkways. By Tigh’s estimate, the colony was built on six or seven levels – at the very least.

One of the older larvae came to greet the visitors and led them to an hourglass-shaped building with a surface that reminded of honeycombs. There they were met by an older Dairu, whose carapace gleamed in a deep indigo blue; clearly one of the Researchers – and a ranking one at that.

“Welcome,” she greeted them, crossing all four arms in front of her thorax and bowing deeply. “I am Ser’breth’lar’throb, the head geophysicist; and this is here our central geophysics lab. Call me simply Throb; that will make communications much easier. I was told that you would be interested in our research, yes?”

“Among other things,” Uhura replied, “although we haven’t expected to find such an imposing subterranean city here. We are impressed.”

“Oh, this is merely our scientific colony,” the Dairu waved with her lower right hand, signalizing that there wasn’t much worth seeing. “You should see the hydroponic gardens; or the industrial facilities. We are quite pleased with what we have achieved here.”

“You have every reason to be pleased,” Uhura nodded, underlying her words with gestures of highest appreciation. “We’d like to see everything on your world that outsiders are allowed to see.”

Her gestures made it unmistakeably clear that this was merely a polite request.

“We have nothing to hide and a lot to be proud of,” Throb assured them, both with words and gestures. “Make yourself at home by us.”

“That is very generous of you,” Uhura replied, with the proper gesture of gratitude. “However, you will surely understand that we would prefer to spend the nights on the surface.”

The large compound eyes of the Dairu scientist mirrored tolerant amusement.

“Of course, of course. We know that humanoids are not comfortable with dwelling so deeply under the earth. On the other hand, weather conditions on the surface aren’t very pleasant. Have you brought temporary shelters with you? We’ll gladly provide everything you might need.”

“We have brought tents from our ships,” Uhura replied, “And made camp near the ancient stone courtyard at your government building.”

Throb nodded. “That is not such a great distance; and you can come earlier tomorrow, to avoid the harsh sunlight. We work in shifts around the clock here as, I believe, you humans would express it.”

“That would be very convenient indeed,” Uhura agreed.

“Commander,” Lieutenant Brent turned to her. “With your permission, Yeoman ch’Thule and I would like to stay here for the night. We are from an area of the homeworld where subterranean dwellings are common; we are used to them.”

Uhura nodded. “Permission granted. Ensign Lamia and Yeoman Lemli will stay with you. The others will return to the surface for the night.”

Brent seemed to hesitate.

“Is there something?” Uhura asked, a little impatiently. Andorians could be annoying at times; especially where Clan business was concerned.

“Well, Commander…” Brent seemed extremely uncomfortable, even a bit reluctant, as if unsure how to express his concern, knowing that he couldn’t count on his immediate superior’s understanding. “It is so that Ensign Ar’Rhaniach was cast out by the Elders of her Clan, and that is something…”

“… that has absolutely nothing to do with this mission,” Uhura finished for him coldly.

But Brent wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“It isn’t us allowed to have any contact whatsoever with outcasts,” he tried again.

Uhura felt her blood pressure rise, but she kept herself under control… for now.

“Listen to me, Lieutenant, because I won’t repeat myself,” she said icily. “How you treat each other in your spare time is up to you, whatever I might think about it; which, frankly, isn’t flattering. But as long as you are on this mission under _my_ command, you’ll stick your benighted bigotry where the sun doesn’t shine and work with your shipmate like civilized beings, or I’ll have you court-martialled for insubordination. All three of you. Have I made myself clear?”

Brent and Lemli gave her mutinous looks, their antennae flattened with anger. Only Thule looked embarrassed on the others’ behalf. Uhura stepped closer to Brent, invading his personal space enough that it counted as a challenge and repeated in a very low, very threatening voice,

“Have I made myself clear, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Brent answered dully.

Uhura nodded. “Good. Keep that in mind, so I won’t see the necessity to have you re-assigned to a low-warp freighter. I don’t tolerate fanatics in my department, Mister. This is Starfleet, not one of your pre-industrial swarm caves. Dismissed.”

The Dairu scientist was watching the intermezzo with unabashed curiosity – perhaps even a little scandalised.

“Do you often have such problems with the ones working under you?” she asked.

“Usually just with the males,” Uhura replied dryly.

The Dairu tilted her head in understanding.

“Yes, they _can_ be belligerent sometimes,” she agreed, with the deep conviction of someone who lived in a female-dominated society. “On the other hand they, too, have their place in the Great Order of Things – even though a lesser one. But they can be useful in their own place.”

“Indeed,” Uhura replied seriously, while desperately trying _not_ to laugh. The female members of the landing party (except the Vulcans, of course) were struggling with the same problem, while Will Decker became beet red with anger and embarrassment.

Fortunately, the Dairu did not realize the true effect of her words on the visitors. She led them into the research facility, in the well-equipped, circular labs of which – placed above each other on various levels of the building – dozens of indigo blue scientists were bent over their instruments, analyzing the data that came from the surface in a continuous stream. After a short time Lieutenant Moreau and Yeoman Tankris separated from the rest of the landing party and joined the work in the central lab.

“You can transfer the data directly to your ship with the help of this communications device,” the technician operating the central terminal explained to Xon. “The antennae run through an isolated, radiation proof chute up to the surface. Besides, at this time Antar Alpha’s activities don’t cause any interference yet.”

“Fascinating,” the Vulcan muttered. “Commander Uhura, with your permission I would like to stay here for a while, too. These data are…”

“Granted,” Uhura could see that Xon was already lost in the empiric world of scientific details; she then turned to Throb. “Can you see to it that our colleagues get sent back to the surface shortly before sunset?”

“Nothing easier than that,” the four slim hands of the Dairu scientist drew elegant symbols in the air, emphasizing what a minor request that was. “And what would the others like to see?”

“Well, I for my part am mainly interested in the hydroponic gardens,” Leila Kalomi said. “And I’m sure that, being a biologist, Doctor Mulhall would like to come with me.”

“Definitely,” Ann Mulhall agreed. “The genetic technology of the Dairu, with which they can adapt practically any plants to every possible environment, are unique. Seeing them at work would be the chance of a lifetime.”

“All right, Uhura said, after making sure that their hosts had no objections. “Yeoman Landon will go with you to make records of everything that is allowed to be recorded. Ensigns Lamia and Davison will stay here with our distracted scientists.”

“In my case, I’d like to see a medical institution: a hospital or a children’s ward, if I may,” Doctor Görg, who had come aboard the _Enterprise_ directly after graduating at the renowned _Delthara University_ , said shyly. “Insectoid species are my specific area of interest; I could learn here so much!”

The Dairu was clearly flattered by the request.

“I’ll contact the Caretakers and have you escorted to the Central Nursery,” she promised. “There you’ll be able to study the hatchlings in their honeycombs; and the Cocoon Halls. How many of you shall I announce?”

The young doctor shrugged uncertainly. “Well, me of course, Sister Sealon, Healer T’Nira…”

“… and Lieutenant Nored,” Uhura gave the experienced security officer a significant look. The freckled brunette nodded, signalling that she acknowledged being responsible for the safety of the medical team.

“Four persons, then,” Throb stepped to the local version of the intercom, which was covered either with ornamental motifs or ancient Dairu letters; it was hard to tell which, and spoke to somebody in the multitonal language of her kind. The intercom didn’t provide visuals, which – considering the mixed nature of the Dairu language – surprised Uhura a little.

“What is he saying?” Decker asked quietly.

Uhura suppressed a smile. “ _She_ is asking if a visit would disturb the routine of the Nursery,” she replied in an equally low voice. “Be careful how you address these people, Will, You may not have realised, but being a male is not an advantage here.”

“Unlike on Earth,” Dr Mulhall commented sourly.

In the meantime Throb had finished her consultation with the Caretakers and turned back to them. Her four mobile hands moved animatedly, expressing delight.

“You’re welcome to the Central Nursery,” she told Dr Görg. “It is situated in a different colony, like the hydroponic gardens, but that shouldn’t be a problem. You can use our transport system to get there.”

“Whatever that is like, I hope the thing is slower than the escalators,” Dr Mulhall said dryly. “I’m still nauseous from our descent.”

The Dairu cackled in amusement. “You mammals are so very fragile,” she was clearly feeling sorry for them. “Unfortunately, I cannot promise that our shuttle will be _slow_ ; but rest assured, those are closed wagons.”

“Wonderful,” the astrobiologist muttered. “So I might not fall out of the shuttle, but I might break every bone in my body.”

Dr Görg gave her an encouraging look, eager to leave as soon as possible. “I’m sure it won’t be _quite_ so bad, Doctor.”

“Your technology is different from everything I’ve seen in my entire life,” Decker, who had started his Starfleet career as an engineer before going to command school, commented, mostly to stop a possible argument between the two women. Dr Mulhall _did_ have her moods, few of them pleasant in an unused-to situation.

“Oh yes!” the Dairu replied proudly. “We’ve developed here a brand new technology that isn’t even used on the homeworld. It is based on geothermic energy, which is clean, efficient and, due to the unusually active planet core, practically unlimited.”

“Doesn’t it mean that you’re sitting on a ticking time bomb, though?” Decker asked. “Even without the upcoming nova-disaster….”

“Oh no, not at all!” the Dairu protested. “Thanks to our new technology, the processing of geothermic energy is completely safe. Would you be interested in a visit to the power plants?”

“Very much so,” Decker replied eagerly. “And so would our specialists from Engineering, I presume.”

Yeoman Thule wriggled with his antennae enthusiastically. “It would be interesting to compare the methods with the ones used on our own homeworld, yes.”

“I can arrange a visit for you,” Throb promised. “Our technicians take great pride in their work – as do we all, I’d say – and we are not completely adverse to eventually selling the technology to the Federation, should there be an interest.”

“Really? Why haven’t you made an offer already?” Decker wondered.

The Dairu spread all four arms apologetically. “It _has_ been discussed for some time. However, considering that the Federation has already resettled our colony three times – and that _you_ have come to take our home from us again – the Mothers have become less than trustful towards the Federation.”

“But we only want what’s best for you!” Decker protested.

“You mean: what _you_ think would be the best for us,” the Dairu corrected dryly; her hands remained uncharacteristically still, as if she’d want to conceal her true feelings. “An opinion we don’t happen to share.”

“You… or the Mothers?” Uhura asked quietly.

“Neither,” the Dairu replied. “And when you’ve learned to know our world better, you might even understand our reasons.”

Her hands remained unmoving: a clear sign that she had nothing to add. Uhura signalled acceptance; and at that, the hands of the Dairu began moving again.

“You still haven’t told me what _you_ would like to see,” she said, aiming her words at Uhura.

The communications officer gestured at T’Pel and the linguists. “We’d be interested to learn more about your language and society. As part of my training, I had the privilege to visit Kohath-Seredi once, but the time was too short to understand the ways of your people in any depth; and our knowledge concerning your language is still far from perfect.”

“In that case you should perhaps visit the Education Centre, where the youngest larvae are taught,” Throb suggested. “That way you can see how our progeny learns our language… maybe that would prove helpful.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Uhura said, “thank you!”

“My pleasure,” the Dairu turned her gleaming head in Tigh’s direction. “Then she is the only one without a destination left.”

Uhura smiled. “ _He_ is a male specimen.”

Throb, cackled with her sharp teeth; this time it was an expression of surprise. “You allow such a great number of your males to leave the breeding caves? That could have disastrous consequences for the population!”

“Our demographics are a bit different,” Uhura explained. “Roughly half of our populations consists of males; our warrior caste is even dominated by them.”

The gesture of the Dairu, as she mustered Tigh, mirrored doubt. “Is he a warrior, then? He’s hardly large and aggressive enough for that.”

“He _is_ a warrior,” Uhura assured her. “Besides, he belongs to me. I find him… rather useful in his place in the Great Order of Things.”

Throb’s hands formed gestures of shock and respect; the graceful movements seemed to knead the air between them into abstract sculptures. “You… you _mate_ with him? Are you one of the Mothers of your people?”

“That is correct,” Uhura replied simply. Her position in the cult pyramid of Munguroo _was_ indeed something similar; even though it didn’t really count in the outside word.

Throb’s reaction to _that_ resulted in gestures surprisingly similar to human hand-wringing. “I had no idea… I mean we have heard that the Mothers of humanoid species do not live in seclusion like ours, but no-one informed us that… that a _Mother_ would honour us with a visit... I am terribly sorry…”

“No need for that,” Uhura tried to console the upset scientist. “You’ve treated us with the utmost respect, so don’t work yourself up over nothing.”

“You don’t understand!” Throb’s gestures expressed great distress. "I’m not trained to entertain such high-ranking visitors. That is a task for the Frokk, the Governor-caste. The Queens will be angry with me for not sending you directly to the breeding caves… I mean, having you escorted to their presence…”

“No, they won’t,” Uhura said calmly. “I shall soothe their anger by telling them how polite, helpful and courteous you’ve been all the time.”

“But the Guardians will…”

“The Guardians will _not_ learn about this. Besides, it was Ser’moiy’llar’breens fault, not having informed himself better… _if_ we insist on having a scapegoat – which we don’t. You had no way to know; and neither had he.”

“I am grateful beyond measure, most esteemed Mother Uhura.”

“It’s all right, Throb. Just arrange for us the visits as agreed, and you’d have mastered your task to our full satisfaction. We’ll return to the surface now and discuss the scheduled visits with our swarm-leaders. As soon as we’ve prepared ourselves, we’ll come back and begin our tour. Do you agree?”

“Of course. Shall we send your scientists back up, too?”

“No, they can stay here until sunset. Why should we subject them to your murderous escalators more often than necessary?”

The Dairu cackled in amusement and Uhura saw in relief that she was getting over her initial shock. “Very true. Does this mean that you’re planning to stay on the surface for the rest of the day – or am I mistaken?”

“No, you’re right,” Uhura said. “It will take time to finish ordering our camp, and afterwards we’ll have to rest. For most of us is the climate of your world very exhausting.”

Throb gesticulated in agreement and called one of the lower-ranking Researchers to escort the visitors back to the surface. The escalator proved marginally more bearable upwards, but they were still happy to step out onto the fresh air – even though one could only bear the brightness of high noon with the help of hyperpolarised visors.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like trotting back to the camp through this desert on foot,” Uhura activated her wrist-communicator. “Uhura to _Enterprise_.”

“ _Enterprise_ , Palmer here.”

“Oh, Liv, good. Please have me, Colonel Tigh and Lieutenant Decker beamed up. I think we need to speak with the captain.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Wait a minute! Afterwards should the rest of the landing party beamed from our current location back to our camp.”

“I’ll see to it. Palmer out.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Less than thirty seconds later Uhura, Tigh and Will Decker dissolved into glittering energy and rematerialized aboard the _Enterprise_ , seemingly without delay. Uhura stepped up to the transporter technician’s console and leaned over the intercom.

“Uhura to Bridge. Captain, I’ll need approximately ten minutes to get rid of the sweat and the dirt; after that I’ll be ready to make my report.”

“Agreed,” Kirk’s voice replied. “I’ll see you in the conference room.”

Five minutes later Uhura was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing her wet hair with quick, economical movements, grateful that Kirk had granted her these ten minutes for a shower and a change. It was so good to be clean again, wearing a freshly laundered uniform, and not hearing anything beyond the distant, barely audible hum of the _Enterprise_ ’s engines. Not to mention the clean, recycled air, free of all scent markers, save for her own shower gel… It was Paradise.

“We are lucky that the captain didn’t insist on an immediate report,” she said to Tigh, who – thanks for the decades-long routine of a life in the barracks – was done with showering and dressing within two minutes and was now waiting for her at the door, wearing a spotless uniform. “If I had to endure my sweated-through uniform for another five minutes, it would have been the end of me.”

She gave her mirror image one last glance; then she put away her hairbrush, smoothed down her uniform tunic and left the bathroom. The lights went off automatically as soon as the internal sensors registered her departure.

“Perhaps you should request Vulcan desert gear,” Tigh suggested unsmilingly and pushed the call button of the turbolift.

“Perhaps you should be wearing the impressive, billowing robes of a Colonial Councillor,” Uhura replied, stepping into the ‘lift cabin; she waited for Tigh to follow before naming their destination. “Conference room.”

The cabin started moving horizontally, as the conference room happened to be on the same deck as their quarters.

“The garb blocks my free movements,” Tigh announced calmly. “Wearing it on a potentially dangerous mission would be, strategically seen, unwise.”

“Do you always have only battles and strategy on your mind?” Uhura asked disapprovingly.

“No,” Tigh replied without even blinking. “But the things I’d prefer to consider are at the moment neither possible nor appropriate.”

Uhura laughed. “You are impossible!”

Tigh tilted his head to the side in a playful manner. “Would you have me any other way?”

“For nothing in this universe… or in any alternate ones, either,” Uhura answered, suddenly very serious again. She touched her fingertips to her lips, sighed and stepped out of the ‘lift cabin that opened to the main corridor of the D-Deck in that very moment.

When they entered the conference room, the previous meeting was still going on there. Dr Boma, the _Enterprise_ ’s leading astrophysicist, was summarizing the newly won knowledge about the Antar system.

“The multitude of objects orbiting both stars is astonishing, Captain, and so are their complicated trajectories,” the dark-skinned Volof scientist explained in the precise manner of a university docent. “It is puzzling why the astronomers of the Federation have never done any detailed research in this system.”

“Give us the general picture,” Sulu asked. “The orbital dynamics are very complicated; any piece of information could be helpful with keeping a stable standard orbit.”

Boma called up the star chart of the system to the large viewscreen. “As you can see, Antar Beta has two planets within its habitable zone. Antar Beta One is a gas giant with twice the mass of Jupiter Solis. Antar Beta Two follows a crooked orbit around the gas giant; the orbital period takes five standard days. The rotation period of the planet is in a three-to-two relation to the orbital period.”

Tigh stared at the screen with a frown, trying to follow the graphics demonstrating the orbital dynamics. It was a complicated issue, true; but he had seen worse during his decades-long duty period with the Colonial Fleet. He had no doubt that he’d be able to manoeuvre his small courier ship safely among the stellar bodies of the Antar system, should the need arise; and _that_ was a deeply reassuring thought.

“The system also seems to include a great number of larger planetoids and small moons, as well as another four planets in more distant orbits; and two asteroid belts,” he commented.

Boma nodded. “We’ve catalogued forty-seven moons within the rings of the gas giant alone, and calculated the orbital parameters of fourteen future objects, all of which circle in very complicated orbits around both Antar Beta One and Two,” he explained. “With your permission, sir,” he turned to Kirk, “I’d like to make detailed records of the orbital dynamics of the entire system, including both asteroid belts. Ensign Haines is currently working on her dissertation; the description of the trajectories of all these natural satellites and rogue asteroids would fit her work excellently. Bedsides, there is a Vulcan scientist on Starbase 13, a certain Dr T’Pan, who would be highly interested in the results, too.”

“Granted,” Kirk said with a shrug. “We’ll hear Commander Uhura now.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report just now,” Uhura admitted. “Although the Dairu seem to refuse an evacuation, they declared themselves willing to show us various aspects of their colony. We’ve already made a detailed plan; the visits will start in the morning.”

“Did you have a chance to contact the Queens yet?”

“We had the Governors file our request for a personal audience,” Uhura corrected. “However, that doesn’t automatically mean that we’ll be granted access to the breeding caves.” 

She decided _not_ to mention Throb’s reaction to her person just yet, as she could not be sure that it would help them in any way.

Kirk shrugged again. “Let’s hope for the best. I for my part would prefer to be done with the preparations as soon as possible. Time’s running out; evacuating an entire colony is slow and complicated work.”

“I agree, Captain. But I must point out that our chances to succeed are not. Good. And if the swarm decides to stay, we cannot evacuate them against their will. Since the Dairu aren’t even members of the Federation, we don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“I know that, too, Commander,” Kirk returned ill-humouredly. “But I’d at least like to know _what_ our chances are. Preferably yesterday.”

“I’ll do what I can, Captain.”

“Good. When do you return to the planet?”

“After I’ve filed a detailed report and consulted our JAG officer; that is, in two or three hours, sir. We cannot afford any juristic mistakes.”

“True enough,” Kirk turned to his executive officer. “Number One, do you have anything important to do on board?”

“Not really, Captain.”

“Then return to the camp. There should be at least one commanding officer present. We’re having a rather tense situation here.”

“Aye, sir,” Decker replied crisply and left, glad that he’d had the presence of mind to take a real shower before the briefing. _That_ was a luxury he wouldn’t have in their camp.


	9. Intermezzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, unexpected events are getting in motion aboard Starbase 13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. T’Pan is the same Vulcan scientist as in the TNG-episode “Suspicions”. Dr. Cheung and her son, Lt. Cheung, are original characters. The latter is 'played' by a young Dustin Nguyen.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
INTERMEZZO**

**Starbase 13.  
Stardate 6170.9**

 

Elijah “Hannibal” Stone, the commanding officer of Starbase 13, had grown grey in service and valour and always thought he couldn’t be surprised by anything __. Not anymore. The long duty years spent at the border patrol, fighting off the pirates of Orion, repeated skirmishes with Klingons and Tholians, even a visit to the Gorn homeworld – all these experiences entitled him to be self-confident. He had certainly earned it.

This time, however, he was so baffled by his visitors that it took him endless seconds to regain the mere ability of speech. Considering _who_ those visitors were, his reaction wasn’t really surprising, though.

One of them, a very young Vulcan female, was wearing the usual comfortable, dark tunic and wide trousers – the latter gathered at the ankles – preferred by the scientists of her people. According to the puritanistic fashion of the traditionalist movement – once again gaining influence on Vulcan – she had her jet-black hair cut short, like the males of her people. In one elegantly swung, finely pointed ear there was a small, dark red ruby, signalling her unbound states – something that Stone, familiar with the rigid Vulcan traditions, found odd, ever for such a young person.

But, as his friend, Captain Daily had mentioned once, t here were free spirits, even among Vulcans. Even though _this_ particular Vulcan didn’t appear particularly free-spirited. But again, it _was_ near impossible for an outsider to guess what any given Vulcan was thinking at any given time.

If the base commander was surprised to see an unbound Vulcan female, his other visitor came almost as a shock. This one, also a female who introduced herself by the oriental-sounding name of S’hya’lee Cheung, was nothing what he’d ever seen during his long career as a Starfleet officer.

For starters, she was an Orion; one of the so-called green savages. That in itself wouldn’t have been completely unusual; Orion slave women were a known, if rare sight on Federation Starbases. She was, however, fully clad, from head to toe – and _that_ was, at the very least, surprising, considering that the overwhelming majority of Orion females, especially the green savages, only existed to be the sex toys of wealthy males – wealthy males in general and wealthy _Orion_ males in particular. They were known as wild and vicious fighters that radiated sexuality as suns radiated heat – or, according to some, even more intensely.

 _‘They are like animals,’_ an Orion slave trader, whom he had just taken out of business, had once told Stone. _‘Vicious, seductive. They say no human male can resist them; they capture every man like an insatiable hunger,’_ the trader then had gestured towards his wares that had been standing in the storage room, chained but not the least intimidated. _‘Suppose you had all of space to choose from, and this was only one small sample… wouldn’t you say it was worth a man’s soul?’_

Back then, Stone had already been mature and experienced enough not to fall for the bribe. Now, however, discreetly observing the woman sitting opposite him, he had to admit that the trader – still safely tucked away on the Limbo penal colony – had been right. Even though _this_ green savage appeared to have been tamed successfully. 

Granted, she _was_ green-skinned, like the infamous savage dancers, but the likeness ended there. She was wearing comfortable clothes in Vulcan fashion – wide-cut ones, with the obvious intent to conceal the seductive arches of her limber body. Over the short-sleeved tunic she wore an artfully draped shawl to counteract the bareness of her arms, and her thick, glossy black hair was twisted into a tight knot on the top of her head – a classically elegant hairstyle but not one that would make a man’s blood boil. Stone’s scalp hurt by the mere sight of it.

And the most unusual thing was: she was wearing _glasses_. Large, square, bone-rimmed, tinted glasses.

 _No-one_ wore glasses in the 23rd century, when weak eyesight was treated with different versions of Retinax – save for the rare cases when somebody had an allergic reaction to the one or other ingredient of it. Glasses counted as outdated and ugly.

Stone supposed that _this_ was exactly why S’hya’lee Cheung chose to wear them. Perhaps she felt it difficult to dress down enough to be accepted in most humanoid societies; but she had reason to do so. Very few general prejudices were still alive within the Federation’s social circles; one of those was that no green Orion female was more than a savage sex-kitten. An understandable prejudice, considering the fact that the description really fit practically all green Orion females – including most of those Dr Cheung herself had ever met.

It certainly didn’t fit _her_ , though, and she was willing to great lengths to make others understand _that_ – with mixed results. Humans – especially males – were always intrigued when she involved them in theoretical scientific debates; mostly because the average green Orion female could rarely put together a sentence longer than five words. And, of course, they were always expecting her to fall out of her role. Which he never did, of course. She had trained too long and too hard to make such a basic mistake. After a while, though, she found their reaction boring and tedious, and decided to work exclusively with Vulcan scientists in the future.

Which was how she had become the colleague of Dr T’Pan – a cooperation that had proved mutually advantageous, so far.

Commodore Stone needed a good three minutes to recover from his shock and regain the ability of coherent speech; a shock caused less by the mere existence of a green savage with a scientific degree – well, _several_ scientific degrees, in fact – but more by the bold statement the Vulcan had just made without preamble.

“Let me set this straight,” he said. “You’ve come to the conclusion that the star currently threatening Antar Beta II hasn’t become nova simply following the natural process of its stellar life?”

“That is correct,” Dr T’Pan replied with unshakable Vulcan calm.

“So, the true reason is…?” Stone pressed on, inwardly cursing the obsessive self-restraint of Vulcans that made it so very difficult to extract information from them; even vitally important information.

“We do not know,” T’Pan admitted, as close to unhappiness as a Vulcan could ever get. “Not _yet_.”

“Whatever power has accelerated the normal development of Antar Alpha so much, we currently can’t determine,” the Orion woman added; her voice was deep and smoky, making Stone shiver a little. “We’ll require years, perhaps even decades of careful observation and analysis before we can find a clear answer… if ever.”

“Why have you come to me then?” Stone wondered. “I thought the explosion wouldn’t threaten the Starbase directly.”

“It should not; although unforeseeable developments can never be safely dismissed,” T’Pan said earnestly. “However, we have no means to find out more here. Which is why I would like to ask you for transport to Memory Alpha. I need to study all records about similar phenomena.”

“That can take a while,” Stone commented. The database of Memory Alpha was immense; there was reason why the library occupied an entire asteroid.

T’Pan didn’t as much as blink. “I am Vulcan. I have the time.”

Stone tried to pretend that he _hadn’t_ been put in his place by somebody who could have been, theoretically, his daughter age-wise.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a courier ship at my disposal that I could lend to you,” he said. “But the _Astral Queen_ is going to leave in two standard days, and her route does touch Memory Alpha. You can book two places by the First Officer, Commander Thelin.”

The two women exchanged thoughtful looks; then Dr Cheung shrugged.

“It won’t be fast, but… you should go, T’Pan. I’ll stay here and correlate the date from the Custodian Array for you. There are excellent science labs here, and as long as Zinaida also remains on the base, we’ll be able to build the first, temporary mathematical models.”

“I thought one couldn’t translate Dr. Chitirih-Ra-Payh’s works from the original Deltan,” Stone commented, after T’Pan had left.

“Theoretically, that is correct,” Dr Cheung nodded. “But I speak Deltan fairly well, at least in scientific terms.”

“They say the Deltan language is fairly complicated,” Stone said thoughtfully.

“It is,” the Orion scientist agreed. “However, I absolved my postgraduate studies on 114 Delta V. Living among Deltans makes the process a lot easier, due to their telepathic abilities.”

Stone hesitated for a moment. “Dr Cheung… would you allow me a somewhat… personal question?”

“The one in which you ask how I, a green savage, learned civilised behaviour and even how to read and write?” she asked back dryly.

Stone shook his head. “Actually, I wanted to ask how you have come to your surname. It has a Terran sound to it.”

“It _is_ Terran,” Dr Cheung visibly relaxed. “I was practically still a child when my potentate, a certain S’Bysh,” no human would have been able to reproduce the hissing sound of that name, “sold me to a Terran smuggler. The man was called Cheung, and since he didn’t want to admit having a slave, he had me registered as his wife. The fact that I was already pregnant made it fairly easy for him, of course.”

“I always thought humans and Orions wouldn’t be genetically compatible,” Stone said in surprise.

She nodded. “We aren’t; not naturally anyway, but not every government is as strict about genetic engineering as the Federation Council. Even though the offspring created that way is sterile, this is a practical – and cheap – way to produce more slaves. And safer than cloning them, anyway.”

“I see,” Stone had heard about the spectacular failures that tended to happen in later cloned generations, of course. There _was_ a reason why cloning was heavily frowned upon, although not actually illegal. Not yet. “Please go on.”

“Well,” the Orion thought for a moment, with an ironic smile in the corner of her full lips, “the idiot didn’t take under consideration that by registering me as his wife he would automatically make me a Federation citizen; with all the rights granted to _any_ Federation citizen, _including_ the right of leaving him whenever I wanted. Which I did two years after we had settled on Rigel II.”

“How old were you then?”

“In standard years? Approximately sixteen. I took my son and went to 114 Delta 5, where I could hope to live unmolested. That was twenty-seven years ago.”

“Your _son_?” Stone echoed, not really sure why was he surprised.

Dr Cheung gave a deep, throaty laugh that made the small hairs rise on his nape. “He’s your chief communications officer.”

“You mean _Lieutenant_ Cheung?” Stone was completely baffled.

She shrugged. “We kept the name… for administrative purposes. Do you never read the file of your people?”

“Not the personal details,” he replied truthfully. “They are not my business – unless there is an emergency.”

Dr Cheung didn’t answer immediately, revealing her surprise.

“I must apologise,” she finally said. “I was prejudiced.”

“Many people are who get to deal with me,” Stone returned calmly. “Most of them believe I’m just a stubborn old soldier, full of prejudices and obsessed with regulations.”

“Are you?” she inquired matter-of-factly.

The man gave her a faint smile and she had to admit that he was attractive, despite his age – for a human anyway.

“Perhaps a little. As far as it is necessary. Only one man in a million could do what I’ve done: command a starship… or a Starbase. I mean, do it _properly_. It is a tough job; one that requires a great deal of self-discipline and being very consequent, no matter what.”

“A lonely position,” Dr Cheung commented.

Stone shook his head thoughtfully. “When my wife was still alive I didn’t find it so… not even when we had to separate for longer periods of time. Now, however… there is a breach between a commanding officer and his people that cannot be bridged.”

“Why that?” she wondered.

“Because the time might come when I’ll have to send them to certain death,” he answered seriously. “One can only do that if one keeps a certain distance.”

“And if one doesn’t?”

“Then one has failed one’s purpose,” Stone stared out of the window of his office grimly. “We are the ones who make the hard decisions: which mission is too risky and which isn’t, and who’s going on the landing party and who doesn’t. And who lives… and who dies. Personal preferences mustn’t play a role; one has to choose the best people for the job, even if it means their death. I can remember talking to Chris Pike about this. He was one of the best among us; and yet he seriously considered quitting the job at one time.”

Dr Cheung remained silent for a while, pondering about his words.

“How do you manage?” she finally asked.

“I keep my distance,” Stone replied simply. “Although not even _that_ does always help. Where, do you think, have I got my grey hair from?”

The Orion gave him a thorough look.

“I find it attractive,” she commented so matter-of-factly that Stone was rendered speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid updates may be less regular for the rest of the story. Another two chapters are already translated but I didn't have the time to type them up yet; and the rest still have to be translated. Please, bear with me while I navigate around a full time job and family obligations.


	10. Unexpected, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the belated update; RL was being unreasonable. I'll try to put up the next part before the year ends. Merry Christmas, everyone!

CHAPTER 05 – UNEXPECTED, Part 1

Will Decker had been assigned to the same tent as Xon and Colonel Tigh - at least in theory. In actuality, Xon returned to the _Enterprise_ each night as per Kirk’s orders and the colonel didn’t return until daybreak; and even then only to use the sonic shower. This excellent piece of 23rd-century technology not only cleaned a person him- or herself, it also disinfected their clothing. Not that _anyone_ would choose to take a shower while fully clothed (save for absolute emergencies when time was a deciding factor), but clothes put in the shower cabin were fresh and clean again within two and a half minutes.

In the long run it could not be compared with the benefits of a real bath or proper laundering, of course, but on short missions like this one it was a blessing. Therefore Tigh waited for the sonic shower to do its job; then he got dressed and left again, as was his wont.

Decker was about to follow his lead (the stifling heat of the planet was very unpleasant everywhere save within the tents), when his communicator started beeping. He glared at the small device with mild annoyance before switching it on.

“Decker.”

“Palmer here,” the pleasantly low voice of Uhura’s second answered. ”The captain wants to speak with you, Lieutenant; and with Commander Uhura.”

“Could I have five minutes?” Decker asked. “We’ll call you back from our mobile communications station to have visual contact, too.”

“Captain says, you have fifteen,“ the answer came a moment later. “Palmer out.“

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Decker showered in record time, called everyone tot heir temporal lab and established a videoconference with the ship exactly fifteen minutes later. By then, they had already analysed the situation among themselves… and no-one seemed very optimistic about the possible outcome of their mission.

Unlike them, Kirk seemed – though well-rested – uncharacteristically annoyed with something… or someone.

“Have you made any progress, Number One?” he asked in a manner as if expecting to start evacuating the Dairu right away.

“It is a slow process, sir,” Decker replied tiredly. “So far we haven’t spoken to anyone of true importance and haven’t seen anything really meaningful. But we’ve just arrived yesterday; it is early times yet.”

“How long do you expect to work on the problem?” Kirk pressed on.

Uhura quickly wrote something with a stylus on her electronic notepad and handed the device to Decker. The young man nodded gratefully.

“Commander Uhura estimates that we’ll need at least two or three weeks before we could hope to come to an understanding with the Dairu,” he reported. “I’m sorry, sir, but we need them to actually cooperate.”

“Not your fault… I hope,” Kirk replied. “Fortunately, I can give you all the time you need – as long as you’ll manage without us.”

“Sir?”

“We’ve picked up a distress call and must leave orbit soon, Number One. Send a list to Chief Wong of all the things you might need in the next… Mr Sulu, how long will we need to Aurora V?”

“With warp 5 approximately six days, Captain.”

“Things you might need in the next four weeks then, Mr Decker. We’ll send a message to Starbase 13, so that Commodore Stone can fetch you, should we run late.”

 _Or not come at all_ , was the unspoken message. Clearly, the new mission promised to be a risky one. Decker swallowed hard.

“Understood, sir.”

“And ask Dr T’Pel whether she wants to join us. Apparently, we’re about to face a crisis of archaeological nature, and God beware that I should hinder a Vulcan researcher in her work.”

“A _what_ , sir?”

“Forget it, Will. Report back in two hours. Kirk out.“

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The next two hours were spent with hard debates. Everyone had his or her very own opinion – coloured by their area of work – about what would be absolutely necessary in the following weeks and what wouldn’t. Uhura had to interfere repeatedly to keep things from becoming _really_ ugly. It turned out that scientists could be annoyingly stubborn and brick-headed when it came to the requirements of their work.

But even she was a little baffled when Tigh told her: he had ordered to have his persona courier ship, the _Antares_ , placed in geosynchronous orbit above their camp and was about to beam up to set the automated systems accordingly.

“Do you really think this is necessary?” She asked.

Tigh nodded grimly. “Oh, yes. Something on this planet is very wrong. I know it. I can feel it in my very bones. It is an instinct; almost a second nature after a life spent in constant warfare. And I’m not ready to subject you to the questionable mercy of these bugs without an escape route.”

“Don’t call them bugs,” Uhura warned. “Nicknames like this can get you in great trouble. Those are sentient beings out there.”

“I don’t trust them,” Tigh replied,” and neither should you. But I’m satisfied with the chance to get you out of here, if necessary. As you know, I’m an experienced pilot.”

“Imaro,” Uhura used the chance to be alone with him for the moment; she’d never call him by his _dream name_ in the presence of outsiders. She took his face in her hands and looked into his dark, worried eyes. “Beloved, we’ve got twenty-three people down here. You can’t put them all aboard the _Antares_ ; it’s simply not possible. That little ship would need weeks to reach Starbase 13; we’d all suffocate by half that way. And you should realize that I wouldn’t leave without the people I’m responsible for.”

“I know that,” Tigh replied with a faint smile. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we reach it; perhaps we’ll be lucky and I’ll be proved wrong. However, as you know the _Antares_ has a particularly strong subspace radio, like all courier ships. It wouldn’t be a problem to reach Starbase 13 from there; or to leave the system for a short time, to avoid the interferences caused by Antar Alpha. I’ll leave the board computer in standby-modus.”

Uhura laughed. “You always think of _everything_ , don’t you?”

Tigh’s smile deepened and he tilted his head from one side to the other playfully – something he only did when they were alone.

“I like to be useful… in my place in the Great Order of Things,” he replied.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Before reaching the deadline given by Kirk, somebody else gave Uhura surprising news: T’Pel.

“I have consulted Xon and Lieutenant Palamas and decided that it would be more useful for me to stay here,” the young Vulcan scientist announced. “Xon will return to the _Enterprise_ in my stead.”

“I don’t understand,” Uhura said in surprise. “He tried his best to be here in the first place; why does he suddenly want to leave?”

“The crisis mentioned by Captain Kirk is taking place on an archaeological site where an outpost of the so-called Great Ones is being excavated,” T’Pel answered helpfully. “They are – _were_ – the oldest species known to us. Two hundred and thirty outposts of them have been discovered over the past one hundred and twenty years, scattered over one thousand light years, without getting any closer to their technical knowledge. Xon has been studying them for a decade or more. Archaeology is not his field of expertise, that is true, but he has a well-founded interest.”

“It surprises me all the more that you, and archaeologist, don’t want to be part of this new discovery,” Uhura said.

“I _did_ consider it,” T’Pel admitted. “But the fact is: hundreds of those outposts have already been excavated, without finding anything new. Each of those sites follows the very same pattern. This little stone courtyard here, on the other hand, offers fascinating stuff for independent study; and since we shall stay here longer than originally planned, I can take my time to examine the details – assuming that you allow me, that is.”

“I have no objections,” Uhura assured her. “I can use your help. I mean, I had four semesters sociology during my studies, but that was a long time ago; and it wasn’t my main field anyway.”

“You had the chance to visit the Dairu homeworld, though,” pointed out T’Pel.

Uhura nodded. “I had; which is why I’m not willing to dismiss Colonel Tigh’s concerns ad mere paranoia. Nothing that I’ve seen here so far has even a vague likeness to the usual way of life on Kaferia.”

“I do not doubt that, Commander; however, the circumstances on this colony are far from normal,” T’Pel reminded her. “As a rule, the Dairu live in harmony with their environment; not only where their world view is concerned, but right down to their biochemistry. This particular swarm has already been forced to adapt a completely new environment three times. It is perceivable that their balance has been seriously disturbed.”

“Do you mean their _mental_ balance?” Uhura asked in concern.

The thought that all these thousands of insectoids populating the various subterranean settlements could be caught up in some kind of collective madness was unsettling – to put it mildly.

T’Pel shook her head. “Not necessarily. Spontaneous mutations also could have happened, even though the local Dairu do not seem different from the various existing subspecies of their kind. Not to the naked eye, at least. Perhaps Doctor Görg and T’Nira will learn more upon visiting the Cocoon Halls.”

“By forming telepathic contact with the larvae within the cocoons?” Uhura asked.

T’Pel nodded. “That _might_ work. The Dairu are telepathically very active in the cocoon, as this is their only means of communication in that period of their lives; and as all healers, T'Nira has a particularly high ESP factor. However, what I meant was that should it have come to any mutations, those would most likely show on the cocoons: on their size, shape and colour.”

Uhura frowned. “Perhaps you should consult the medical team about this aspect before they would leave.”

“As you wish,” T’Pel replied automatically; then she added, with just a hint of hesitation. “If I may suggest something…”

“Sure you can. You’re part of this team, aren’t you?”

“I am honoured. Well, Commander, I think we should postpone our visits by a day or two, assuming the Dairu have no objections. We shall have to rearrange our camp when the additional equipment and supplies are beamed down from the _Enterprise_ ; that can take hours.”

“And I wouldn’t like to do _that_ during the night,” Uhura agreed. Lieutenant Moreau and Yeoman Townsend can keep analysing soul samples and atmospheric readings while unpack. That is a good idea, Doctor T’Pel, thanks for the suggestion.”

Before the Vulcan could have replied with the usual platitude about it not being necessary to thank for logic, the head of Nurse Sealon appeared in the opening of the tent.

“Commander, Colonel Tigh has just returned from the _Antares_. And the additional equipment has been beamed down from the _Enterprise_.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” Uhura stood. “Please, ask Lieutenant Decker to coordinate the unpacking for me while I discuss with the Captain the finishing touches. It won’t take long. Afterwards we should try to find Shhoiy.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Barely thirty minutes after the _Enterprise_ left orbit, Lamia managed to hunt down the present-cycle governor; the young Andorian _zhen_ showed definite talent in such things, so Uhura liked to assign her to these tasks. Shhoiy listened to them intently and – to their surprise – had no objections at all against postponing the planned visits to the various settlements of the colony by a day. On the contrary: as careful as she was with her gestures, the tiny fluttering of her hands clearly spoke of relief.

“Something is definitely odd here,” Uhura muttered after the current leader of Antar Beta Two had left.

“What do you mean?” Tigh asked.

Uhura shrugged. “I don’t know, but Shhoiy seemed to be concerned. _Very_ concerned.”

“She barely moved her hands at all,” T’Rada agreed. “As if she had something to hide.”

“To hide… _what_?” Decker asked with a frown.

“I do not have sufficient data to answer that question,” the Vulcan linguist replied in all seriousness.

Several people rolled their eyes but all refrained from a comment.

Uhura glanced at the Andorian _zhen_. “Lamia, you understand insectoid behaviour better than the rest of us. Do _you_ have any ideas?”

Lamia moved one of her antennae thoughtfully. “Perhaps something happened during the night; something they don’t want us to learn about, so that they won’t loose face. Perhaps Lieutenant ch’Reiji and the others have learned something.”

As she referred to Brent by his proper Andorian name (which only the other Andorians ever did), her words led to the usual confusion among the humans – with the sole exception of Uhura, that is.

“That is possible,” the communications officer agreed. “Yeoman Townsend, find Lieutenant Brent and tell him to return to the surface with his entire team.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Sherri replied, relieved to know _whom_ of the Andorians she was supposed to find, and did as she was told.

“In the meantime let’s go on with our work,” Uhura suggested. “A great amount of equipment is still waiting to be unpacked and stored.”

By the time they finished unpacking and rearranging their camp, it became dark again. The Vulcans retired to the desert for their evening meditations. The others gathered the spacious open veranda of their lab to listen to the report of the Andorians – who had meanwhile returned to the surface and had indeed a lot to tell – and to eat something.

By unspoken agreement, Lieutenant Brent was the one actually reporting. Not only because – belonging to the communications department – it fit his job description, but also because he hailed from the most influential clan of them, and _that_ meant a lot more to Andorians. More than the fact that he was an officer, while the others just enlisted personnel.

“We spent the night in the common habitats,” he reported to his superior, “and tried to talk to the Caretakers who are responsible for the individual hives.”

“Have you learned anything of importance?” Uhura asked.

Brent’s antennae turned towards each other in the Andorian equivalent of a shrug.

“That is hard to tell, Commander. Making contact – _any_ kind of contact – proved more difficult than expected. Life don there seems tightly organized – a great deal more tightly than it would be usual in the common habitats.”

“Insectoid societies are generally well-organized and determined by strict traditions,” Dr Görg commented, with the naïve overconfidence of a relative greenhorn.

Brent’s antennae flattened in annoyance.

“By all due respect, Doctor, _I know_ a thing or two about insectoid cultures. We might be a Ghelnoid species, but our own culture is as rigid as they come. But I have been to Kaferia repeatedly, to replace communications technicians on the Federation embassy, and I can tell you that _these_ Dairu definitely behave oddly. The hives remind one more of military barracks than of common habitats, and _that_ is more than unusual.”

“Have you seen any troops of the Honour Guard down there?” Dr Mulhall asked.

“None,” Brent admitted. “But the larvae are acting as if they were going through a crash course for living under military law.”

“The _larvae_?” Uhura echoed in surprise.

Brent waggled with one of his antennae to signalise that he was being equally surprised.

“Yes, ma’am. After their work shift, they go straight back to the hives, report in to their Caretaker, eat together and then crawl back into their individual honeycombs.”

Dr Mulhall shook her head in bewilderment. “That is odd indeed. As a rule, Dairu larvae lead a vivid social life to try out their individual talents and interests. That is how they can be assigned to the best-fitting job after leaving the cocoons.”

“Well, _these_ sure as hell have no social life whatsoever,” Brent assured her grimly. “And the Caretakers, who are supposed to, well, to care for them, don’t show much interest for their job, either. They all appear strangely… apathetic.”

“Is that really so surprising for a people who are facing certain and imminent death?” Tigh asked quietly.

“Theoretically your question would be justified,” Dr Mulhall said. “However, the scientists _we_ have visited behaved completely differently. _They_ seemed mightily proud of their achievements – and rightly so, I’d say – and they oppose strongly the mere idea of another relocation.”

“The Mothers presumably feel the same way,” Tosca Brevi supplied, “assuming we can believe the Caretakers.

“I don’t think that they’re lying,” Uhura said thoughtfully. “It is very hard to lie when body language is such a deeply integrated part of every communication as by the Dairu. There would always be tiny gestures that would give the lie away. But I’m also sure that they are hiding something from us.”

“ _All_ of them?” Dr Mulhall asked.

“I’m sure the scientists do,” Uhura clarified. “I’m not so sure about the Caretakers, though. I should talk to them more to make a proper guess.”

“Would it be possible that the Researchers are up to something, without telling the other castes?” Decker suggested. “Or would that turn the balance of their society upside down?”

“That is hard to imagine; but not entirely impossible,” Uhura admitted, remembering her previous conversation with T’Pel. “These are unusual circumstances for a Dairu swarm.”

“Lieutenant Brent meant the larvae in the common habitats were totally apathetic,” Marlena Moreau said. “The ones _we_ met in the scientific settlement, however, were _not_.”

“On the contrary,” Yeoman Townsend supplied. “They were dynamic, enthusiastic about their studies… and were telling jokes. Granted, we didn’t really get _those_ , but the others found them very funny.”

“The whole situation appears more and more confusing the more we learn,” Uhura commented. “I hope that my visit by the Mothers will cast some light into the darkness.”

“Whom are you taking with you?” Decker asked. “You can’t go alone.”

“I don’t intend to,” Uhura replied. “I’ll need T’Pel with me; she as a sociologist knows more about the Dairu than I do. And I’ll take Lamia as back-up.”

“Lieutenant Nored has a lot more experience,” Decker reminded her. “I’d feel better if she accompanied you.”

“But _I wouldn’t_ ,” Uhura interrupted. “Nored is an excellent officer, but she wouldn’t be capable of biting through the throat of a Dairu to protect me… and weapons won’t be allowed in the breeding caves.”

“Well, take Lemli, then,” Decker suggested. “He’s been with Security longer than Lamia has been alive; and he’s an Andorian, too.”

Uhura nodded. “Sure. But he’s a _thaan_.”

“So what? I seriously doubt that the Dairu could grasp the differences between the four Andorian genders. Hell, we can’t do that, and we’ve been allied to them for a century or so!”

Lamia wriggled her antennae nervously. “That’s not the point, Lieutenant.”

“Well, what is the point then?”

“Like with all species with at least partially insectoid ancestors, instincts play a much larger role in our lives than for full mammals,” Lamia explained. “I am a _zhen_ ; the vague biological equivalent of a fertile female.”

“I know that, Ensign. Could you come to the actual point, assuming there is one?”

“The point is, Lieutenant, that _my_ instincts enable me to tear out the throat of somebody I consider a threat. A _shen_ can do the same. _Chan_ and _tha’an_ can _not_.”

“Why not?”

“Some of our ancestors were insectoids. There is no actual proof, but theoretically we can assume that they, too, had the typical mating custom during which the _shen_ killed and consumed the _chan_ or the _tha’an_ – or both – after the successful coupling. The other way round it wouldn’t be possible; otherwise the existence of the entire species would have been endangered.”

“But you don’t do that anymore, I mean…” Decker suddenly realised that he was walking on thin ice and became beet red with embarrassment.

Lamia’s antennae turned inward and touched each other in clear amusement; Andorians weren’t big at facial expressions.

“Don’t worry, sir,” she said very seriously. “I’d _never_ do that to a superior officer.”

The uproarious laughter locked the Vulcans back from the desert. T’Pel asked for an explanation; then she matter-of-factly offered Decker to explain him the Andorian mating rituals, should he really be interested.

“However, I would not encourage you to mate with an Andorian _shen_ or _zhen_ ,” she added practically. “The anatomical differences would make the act extremely uncomfortable; and the respective body fluids could cause mutual allergic reactions – in some cases even toxic ones.”

At this point the poor executive officer performed a hasty retreat, while the humans present were nearly rolling on the floor, they were laughing so hard. T’Pel didn’t understand this reaction to her well-meant warning, of course. She meant every word of it. Although born on Earth and spent her early childhood in Egypt, the human sense of humour remained a puzzle for her.

A few moments later Uhura ended the fun.

“All right, people, I suggest we all go to bed now. We've had a hard day, and tomorrow doesn’t promise to be any easier. Has Lieutenant Decker, set up the watch roster?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ensign Ibsen raised his hand. “I’m first.”

“Very well. Have you placed the proximity sensors around the camp?”

“Yes, Commander. I’ll activate them as soon as everyone has retired for the night.”

“Good. In that case – have a restful night, all of you. Dismissed,”


End file.
